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The strand magazine 

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January to June, 1896, 

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$%n Illustrated Jffonthty 



Vol. XL 


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., l8 9 6 


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I.— The Episode of the Mexican Seer 659 

(Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE, R.B.A.) 

(Illustrations from Photographs and from Drawings by A. J. JOHNSON.) 
ANIMALS ON TRIAL. By A. M. Avenal " 668 

(Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd.) 
ANT MOUNTAIN, THE. A Story for Children. From the German 716 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 

BAR AS A PROFESSION, THE. By The Lord Chief Justice of England 160 

(Illustrations from Drawings by Alan Wright and a Photograph.) 
BLACK PANTHER, THE. By J. Laurence Hornibrook 696 

(Illustrations by J. L. WnMBUSH.) 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 
BURIED TREASURE, A REAL CASE OF. By J. Holt Schooling 501 

(Illustrated by Facsimiles. ) 

CARRIE, THE TELEGRAPH GIRL: A Romance of the Cherokee Strip. By Captain 

Jack Crawford, ** The Poet Scout " 506 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 
CHARACTER IN NOSES. By Stack pool E. O'Dell 78 

(Illustrations from Photographs and Prints.) 
CRICKET AND CRICKETERS: Their Opinions on Players and Pitches 703 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 
CURIOSITIES OF ANGLING. By Framley Steelcroft 625 

(Illustrations from Photographs and from Sketches by G. BoLDlNL) 

DANDY DOGS. By W. G. FitzGerald 538 

(Illustrations from Photographs and Facsimiles.) 

VII.— The Brigand of Kairouin the Holy 88 

VIII.— The City of the Scarlet Scarab,«us 164 

IX. — The Wolves of the Atlas ... 321 

(Illustrations by ALFRED Pearse.) 


(Illustrations from Photographs and a Diagram.) 

DICKENS'S MANUSCRIPTS. By J. Holt Schooling 29 

(Illustrations from Facsimiles and a Photograph.) 

by LjK 





"DOT": An Irish Tale. By Mrs. A. H. Markiiam 

{Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 



{Illustrations from Photographs, Drawings by A. J. Johnson, and from Facsimiles. 

328, 466 


XVI. — The Widower and the Parrot 

XVII. — The Owl that Lonced to be Married 

XVIII. — Blackbirds and Thrushes 

XIX. — A Countryman and His Asses 

XX.— The Gardener and the Hog 

{Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd.) 
FIDELITY. By Carmen Sylva (Queen of Roumania). Translated by Alys Hallard 
{Illustrations by Gordon Browne, R.B.A.) 

"FLOTSAM": An Ocean Incident. By Herbert Russell 

{Illustrations by W. Christian Symons.) 






GENIUS, A FORGOTTEN. By C. Van Noorden 227 

{Illustrations from Old Prints. ) 

Mary Spencer-Warren. II.— The Stables. By C. S. Pelham-Clinton 308 

{Illustrations from Photographs. ) 
GOLF, AND HOW TO PLAY IT : An Interview With the "Open" Champion 585 

{Illustrations from Photographs by Henry W. Salmon.) 
GOOD LADY DUCAYNE. By Miss Braddon 185 

{Illustrations by Gordon Browne, R.B A.) 
GREAT GAMBLING PALACE, THE. By S'R George Newnes, Bart 371 

{Illustrations from Drawings by G. HlLLYARD Swinstead, R.B.A.) 

{Written and Illustrated by CHARLES Knight.) 

HORRIBLE HONEYMOON, A. By Mrs. Edith E. Cutheli 

{Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

{Illustrations by W. Thomas Smith.) 
the Swedish of Z. Topeli us 

{Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 

{Written and Illustrated by REGINALD H. CoCKS.) 

{Illustrations by W. B. WoLLEN, R.I.) 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 






XLVL— Mr. Briton Riviere, R.A. By Harry How 

{Illustrations from Pictures, Sketches, and Photographs.) 
XLVIL— Mr. Henry Coxwell. By Harry How 

{Illustrations from Photographs and from Drawings by A. J. JOHNSON and W. THOMAS SMITH.) 

JACQUES BRULEFERT'S DEATH. From the French of Georges Renard 

{Illustj-ations by Alfred Pearse.)- 

{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

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455. 55 1. 689 



(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

By Frances H. Low 

(Illustrations from Pictures by SIR J. E. Millais.) 
MOUNTAIN OF GOLD, A. By C. S. Pelham-Clinton 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 
MYSTERIOUS EXPERIENCE, A. By The Countess of Munster 

(Illustrations by Warwick Coble.) 

7 2 3 



ONE SEASON. By Pleyoell North (Mrs. Egerton Eastwfck) 
(Illustrations by J. Finnemore, R.B.A.) 



(Illustrations from Old Prints and Photographs.) 

(Illustrations by Gordon Browne, R.B.A.) 
PIROTOU. From the French of Charles Foley. By Alys Hallard 

(Illustrations by M. Barstow.) 

Abbey, Edwin Austin, A.R.A. 

Austin, Mr. Alfred 

Bath and Wells, The Bishop of 

Bradford, Sir Edward 

Cecil, The late Mr. Arthur 

Charles, Mr. Justice 

Elgin, Lord 

Emperor of Russia, The 
Empress of Russia, The 

Englr, Mlle. Marie 

Jameson, Dr 

Lawson, Sir Edward 





Lussan, Mlle. Zelie de .. 

Maclaren, Ian 

Masson, Professor David 
Millard, Miss Evelyn 
Morgan, Sir G. Osborne.. 
Nethersole, Miss Olga .. 

Parry, Dr 

Selous, Mr. F. C 

Smart, Mr. John 

Story, Professor 

Waller, Mr. Lewis 
West, Miss Florence 


Isabel Bellerby 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 







(Illustrations fro:n Diagrams by J. H. Schooling, and an Old Print.) 
RODNEY STONE. By A. Conan Doyle 

(Illustrations by Sidney Paget.) 

(Illustrations from Photographs and Drawings by A. J. Johnson, and Facsimiles.) 

( Illustrations from Photographs. ) 


17, 132, 261, 409, 521, 612 

62, 177, 251, 424, 710 


SILVER GREYHOUND, THE: An Account of the Queen's Foreign Messenger Service. 

By J. Holt Schooling 401 

(Illustrations from Photographs and Facsimiles.) 
SPEAKER'S CHAIR, FROM BEHIND THE. By Henry W. Lucy ... 145, 274, 385, 566, 6S3 

(Illustrations by F. C. Gould, ) 

STORY OF THE INVISIBLE KINGDOM, THE. A Story for Children. From the German 

of Richard Leander 355 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 

{ Illustrated by John D. Stafford.) 

f~* rtrt r\] ■■ Original from 





I. — The Scenery ok the Moon 445 

II. — The Planet Saturn 513 

(Illustrations from Photographs, Drawings, and Diagrams.) 

TOM TIDDLER T S GROUND : The Romance of Buried Treasure 653 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

TRANSFORMATION. By Robert Barr 634 

(Illustrations by A. Pearse.) 

ULRICH THE GUIDE. From the French of Guy de Maupassant. By Alys Hallard ... 243 

(Illustrations by J. L. Wimbush.) 
UNCLE SAMBUQ'S FORTUNE. From the French of Paul Are ne 116 

(Illustrations by H. R. Mll.LAR.) 

(Illustrations by Alfred Pearse.) 

WHITE KID GLOVE, THE. By J. S. Fletcher 33^ 

(Illustrations by W. S. Stacky.) 
WITCH-DANCER'S DOOM, THE. A Story for Children 598 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 

YARNS FROM CAPTAINS' LOGS. By Alfred T. Story 49>200 

(Illustrations from Drawings by C. J. Staniland, R.L, and from Photographs.) 



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(Frem the Fidurt by Brittm Riviere, R.A.) 

f\r\a\t> 'urigfnalfrom 


Illustrated Interviews. 

By Harry How. 

occupies the position of being 
our premier animal painter of 
to-day. He his not only 
Angled out the noblest of 
animals upon which to exercise 
his skill, but has also turned his genius in 
the direction of the more insignificant though 
by no means less familiar. 

When I made my first call at " Flax ley," 
Finchley Road, where Mr. Riviere resides I 
was received in a very appropriate manner, 
I rang the bell and, like the proverbial flash 
of lightning, a fine fox-terrier, "Speed" by 
name, flew down the stairs leading into the 
hall and endeavoured to get at me through 
the glass windows, I rang the bell again, and 
inwardly thought that I preferred the Royal 
Academician's dogs on the canvas rather 
than on my track. The appearance of the 
artist himself, however, and the kindly way 
in which he greeted me seemed to reassure 
my young barking friend. Briton Riviere 
is of medium height — his hair is grey, 
He is a rapid, though very deliberate 
and convincing, speaker. If you ask 
him a question, he just fixes his eyes 
on you, and tells 
you exactly what you 
want to know, without 
any embellishment or 
unnecessary words, 
which somebody has 
designated " flowery," 
During the time that 
I spent with him, I 
came to the conclu- 
sior that he was an 
exceedingly modest 
man— he would prefer 
to speak generously 
about other men and 
their work rather than 
" look back " upon his 
own. He tries to expel 
from your mind the 
conviction which one 
cannot possibly fail to 
possess, that his work 
is the work of a genius. 
It is only reason- 
able to suppose that 

Vol. *L-1. 

by GoOgic 

Mh. HRIl'i\ klVIFRK, R.A- 

From a I'hvto bj (to, jVeirw*, Ltd- 

painters, like other folk, work for a living; 
but as one sits chatting with- Briton Riviere, 
it soon becomes apparent that there is a huge 
undercurrent of irrepressible and lasting love 
for his art and those who have helped him — 
the dumb creatures. To hear him speak of 
the dogs, sheep, and horses which have posed 
as models to him, is to discover what an 
affectionate corner our four-footed friends 
have in a heart that sees something to admire 
in them. 

u Rather a lively dog, Mr. Riviere," I said, 
referring to " Speed," whose paws only a 
moment ago were beating against the 

"Ah," he said, "he won't hurt you. He 
never bites anyone except myself and the 
members of my own family ! He bit me a 
few months ago and one of my sons a few 
days after, but I have never known him bite 
a stranger, These are only the eccentricities 
of genius. He is a dog who thinks, and we 
are all very fond of him and accept him 
gladly with these few little failings.-' 

This pleasant assurance regarding "Speed's" 
partiality for strangers helped to make the 
task which lay before me a very happy one* 

At the far end of 
the hall is the billiard- 
rjom. The walls of 
the apartment given 
up to the board of 
green cloth are covered 
with engravings of the 
artist's works. Briton 
Riviere's works have 
been engraved by such 
men as Stacpoole, 
Atkinson, Chant, 
Lewis, Murray, and 
[ J ratt, whilst "Im- 
prisoned " was con- 
verted into black and 
white by Samuel 
Cousins* Mr. Riviere 
paid a magnificent 
compliment to his 
engravers, as we paused 
for a moment in this 

" Do you know," 
he said, "I much 

Original from 


prefer looking upon 
an engraving of one 
of my pictures to 
gazing at the origi- 
nal canvas itself, I 
have been very fortu- 
nate in my engravers, 
especially in my 
friend Stacpoole." 

Just beyond the 
billiard -room is the 
studio. The door is 
opened by Mr, 
Riviere, who, beckon- 
ing me, in a peci> 
liarly happy sort of 
way, pleasantly invites 
me to "come into 
my workshop*" 

" Workshop" is an 
exceedingly applic- 
able name for the 
studio which has seen 
the birth of many of 
Mr, Riviere's pic- 
tures. It may at 
once be said that it 
is not the studio of a 
Tadema. The floor 
luxurious and costly 
Dogs and horses, 

wni.PS HEAEl 

Italic* at Zoofoffical Garden* &y Brtf&n Riaurt, R.A. t at H #€nn bfuge. 

Leighton or an Alma 
is utterly devoid of 
carpets and rugs, 
sheep and pigs, are not 
calculated to improve the quality of an ex- 
pensive carpet, or to add to its lasting capa- 
bilities. The floor is elaborately decorated 
with scratches from many a dog's paw and 
horse's hoof. The walls are covered with 
beautiful tapestry- In a corner is the skeleton 
of one of the largest leopards ever housed at 
the Zoo ; it was articulated at Oxford for its 
present owner. Casts of animals are every- 
where, including one of a very fine black 
wolf; whilst at the far end of the studio is 
the skeleton of a deerhound, which the artist 
contemplates affectionat *ly. u Bevis H — for so 
the hound was christened — belonged to one 
of Mr. Riviere's brothers-in-law, and obtained 
prizes in his day ; he was one of the best 
models Mr. Riviere ever had. 

One obtains a very good idea from Mr. 
Riviere's plaster study of u The Last Arrow " 
as to his abilities as a modeller, though 
perhaps the most interesting object in the 
M workshop" is the anatomical lion. Mr, 
Riviere has been at work on this for over 
eight years. Bit by bit he has developed the 
sinews and muscles of his favourite animal, 
and when it is complete it will form a rare 
example of patience and skill. 

On one of the easels rests the unfinished 

portrait of a gentle- 
man, on which the 
artist has only been 
at work for three 
days. It is quite 
characteristic of the 
painter, for the sitter, 
whose portrait is 
being slowly devel- 
oped on the canvas, 
has his three favourite 
dogs with him — a 
Blenheim, a pug, and 
a black - and - tan 
setter, A second 
easel bears on its 
pegs the original 
canvas of "An Old- 
World Wanderer," 
exhibited at the 
Royal Academy in 
1S87 — a creation 
which is at once im- 
pressive, picturesque, 
and dramatic. The 
central figure is that 
of an ancient Greek, 
who has stopped his galley and swum 
through the water to the shore, where 
are a crowd of sea-gulls. The birds do 
not appear the least afraid, As the pic- 
ture was originally painted, the "Old-World 
Wanderer" was standing by a boulder 
covered with seaweed, The artist now 
has altered his figure with very much 
better effect, and has made the half- clad 
barbarian in the act of walking out of the 
water As we look at this work the man 
who conceived it tells me that animals and 
birds have no fear of man if they have never 
seen a human being before. Hence the sea- 
gulls are in no way afraid at the approach of 
this stranger— this Old- World wanderer. If 
one could only find a corner of the British 
coast frequented by the birds of the sea who 
had never seen a human being before, one 
could approach the members of the feathered 
tribe in the same way as the ancient Greek in 
the picture, and could smooth their backs and 
feed them from the hand. One must see 
the original picture and the re-creation to 
realize how much more telling the alteration 
makes the Idea. 

We sat down by the fire for a chat ; and 
Mr, Riviere, in reply to my questions, gave 
me much interesting information with regard 
to his dumb friends who have, at various 
times, been in his studio. u At one time," 
he said, u I Gtedilfeslwatchi for my dogs in the 







from the firtt exktixttd J'icUn b* B. Mvbrty &A« 

streets, when I wanted some particular kind 
of dog that I could not get in the ordinary 
manner, and if I saw a likely animal, I would 
introduce myself to its owner, and ask 
him to allow me to paint it My best 
models, however, have been animals which 
have been lent to me by friends. Years 
ago I used to have them from a dog 
dealer, paying him so much a morning* Of 
course, I need hardly say that the dog is 
always held by a skilled hand whilst I am 
making my studies. The best dog to sit is 
an animal which I am afraid I must admit I 
thoroughly dislike -an intelligent poodle- 
Many dogs are a long time before they grasp 
what is wanted of them, and one has to go 
through no small amount of patience to get 
them to behave themselves. The most rest- 
less sitters are the collie and the deerhound. 
Still , notwithstanding their restlessness, I am 
very fond of both, and have frequently painted 
them. Perhaps the dog I admire most is the 
bloodhound ; but, as a matter of fact, I am 
fond of all short-haired dogs* I like a dog 
which shows its form ; and I have had dogs 
here which one could make as careful and 
elaborate studies from as could be done with 
a nude figure. 

4 * Some dogs are very difficult to manage, 
but however awkward and ill-tempered a dog 

Digitized byXjOOglC 

may be, in time 
lie gets used to 
the studio* 
have watched 
dog for hours 
a time, until 
have been able to 
get exactly what I 
wanted, for how- 
ever troublesome 
an animal may be, 
it Is only a ques- 
tion of waiting, 
when you will he 
sure to get what 
you want. I 
assure you that 
there arc times 
when I would 
willingly have paid 
a guinea a minute 
to get the dog 
into the right 
position,* 1 

I hinted that 
probably Mr. 
Riviere had had 
one or two adven- 
tures with his 
dumb friends in the studio. " No," he 
replied, "I have not, curiously enough — 
though I was perhaps very near one once, 
with a fine bloodhound* One morning the 
animal was brought into my studio, and I 
thought it showed strange symptoms. I told 
the man in charge of it to take it away at 
once, and it was a fortunate thing I did so, 
for that night the dog died raving mad- 

" I never paint away from home, and only 
do black and white studies at the Zoo. I 
was always very fond of the Zoo, and well 
remember the old keeper, who was there 
before Sutton, the present man in charge* 
He was always exceedingly kind to me, 
when I used to go there as a child to 
draw. Of course, I never went alone, 
although I had a ticket like an artist. As 
a child, I liked the lions best. There were 
some famous animals there in those days; 
but you must not run away with the idea that 
it was anything very great on my part, draw- 
ing so early as I did. My eldest boy has 
totally eclipsed any small efforts of mine. He 
drew a bird when he was two years of age 
which is far and away better than any of my 
early efforts." 

Mr, Riviere comes of a family of French 
descent, and was born in London on the 
14th AugustQjSjtOgi frNfls fewer than four 



generations of Rivieres have been on the 
books of the Royal Academy. 

The first eight years of his life were spent in 
London. Soon after he was eight years old 
he had to say " good-bye " to the Zoo and 
the many friends he had made there, a 
" good-bye" which, Mr. Riviere assured me, 
cost him many a tear — and he went with his 
father to live at Cheltenham, Here he 
remained for nine years. He painted a good 
deal out of doors at Cheltenham, while at 
college there, He assured me with much 
fervour that he owed a great deal to his 

"I had great advantages at Oxford," said 
Mr, Riviere, 1£ and made many life-long friend- 
ships there, I had no painter friends at Oxford* 
I did not go in for class at college, I was 
painting all the time ; and I only took my 
B,A, by reading in spare time. After leaving 
college I came to Kent, married, and lived at 
Keston, I kept myself by illustrating novels, 
poems, etc., for various publications; draw 
ing all my illustrations on the wood with a 
brush, and working mostly by gas-light, I 
have never recovered from this, for the night 
work has injured my eyes, probably beyond 

u What was the first picture you sold, Mr. 
Riviere?" I asked 

" ' Robinson Crusoe, 5 I was about twelve 
when I painted it. I represented Crusoe 


Digitized by VjOOsIC 

sitting in a cave surrounded by birds and 
animals; I think I got ^20 for it, I had, 
however, exhibited two pictures before this, 
when I was eleven. They were both studies 
in oil ; one was called 'Ixrve at First Sight/ 
and the other * Kitten and Tomtit.' Both 
of these were shown at the British Institute. 
I was seventeen when I had a couple of 
works at the Royal Academy — 'Sheep on 
the Cots wolds ' and l Tired Out. 1 " 

From that time, with intervals, Mr. Riviere 
continued exhibiting ; some years only a 
single picture, whilst in other years as many 
as ten works came from his brush, 

I had taken with me to u Flaxley" a com- 
plete catalogue of all Mr. Riviere's paintings; 
and, at my suggestion, I went through its 
pages, reading out picture by picture, asking 
the artist to kindly stop me when I mentioned 
any work which had a peculiar interest 
attached to it. 

144 Monkey and Grapes, 185s, 1 " I read; 
M ' Cattle going to Gloucester Fair, 1859-' " 

" Ah ! " said Mr. Riviere, " that was a 

canvas yft. long. It was exhibited at the 

Royal Academy, sold, and never paid for." 

" * Elaine on the Barge, 1860/ M 

"That," said the artist, 1( was painted just 

when, for a time, I had turned away from 

animals. I did not paint any animals for a 

period of five years ; I was much influenced 

by pre-Raphaelite ideas. I am sorry to say 

that * Elaine ' was rejected 

■» -— - — 1 at the Academy. Elaine, 

by-the-bye, was one of my 

"■ Hamlet and Ophelia'?" 
" Yes, oh, yes ; this was 
an extraordinary mixture of 
pre- Raphael ism and Maelise 
It was very elaborate. This, 
too, was rejected at the 
Academy, It came into my 
hands at my father's death. 
I was so disgusted- with it 
that I tore it in strips, and 
watched * Ham let and 
Ophelia' disappear in the 

" * Girl under the Sea, 
from "I.alla Rookh ,JJ ?" 

**I painted that chiefly 
for two things 1 the figure, 
and those beautiful sea- 
anemones with the starfish. 
I cut this picture to pieces, 
too, later on ; but kept a few 
pieces, as I thought the study 
iqirfatifeoannemones would be 




useful. I painted * The Spanish Armada — 
Drake Playing at Bowls,' with thirty or forty 
figures in it ; this was when I was twenty- 
three, and I went to Plymouth to get a good 
point of view and a suggestive background. 

11 1 had Wo pictures at the Academy in 
1864 — i Romeo and Juliet ' and * Prison 
Bars ' ; and then I dropped the pre-Raphael- 
istic idea and returned to my old love, the 
friends that 1 had made at the Zoo. I 
painted * The Sleeping Ueerhound J and * The 
Poacher's Nurse,' The latter was the first 
picture which was really well hung at the 
Academy and well noticed." 

It was a very simple idea. The figure of 
the poacher in the picture is not seen, save 
his hand stretched over the beds id e, which 
his faithful lurcher is licking affectionately, 
and offering its master its dumb sympathy, 

Although I should like to chronicle in this 
paper a complete catalogue of all the pictures 
which have come from the brush of Mr, 
Riviere, want of space forbids. As we sat in 
the studio together I continued reminding 
him of the work he had done in the 

forget "Spilt Milk" and "Going to be 
Whipped," ^Prisoners," "The Empty Chair," 
and "The Saint." The "Saint 3 ' was an old 
raven, perched on the top of some volumes 
on the ledge of one of the windows of the 
old library at Merton College. We spoke of 
"Charity," a picture painted in 1870. Not 
only was this the first picture exhibited 
at the* Academy with undeniably distinct 
success, hut the first of Mr, Riviere's 
pictures to be engraved. It showed a 
poorly-clad little girl with bare feet, giving 
away a portion of her scanty meal, only a 
crust of bread, to a couple of half-starving 
dogs. This was hung in a corner of Room 
No. 8, and it brought about the meeting of 
Mr. Riviere with Sir John Millais* So pleased 
was Millais with this picture that he 
sought out the artist and said many pleasant 
things to him. This picture is now in the 
possession of I.ord Wantage. 

Mr. Riviere remembered well " A Mid- 
summer Night's Dream," a title for a suggested 
subject — a fox coming to steal the chickens 
out of a hen-house. The artist experienced 


a f 

jrruwiF-* or a wedlington terrier, is v h. hivii&ftK, h.a. 

past, and the artist thoughtfully remembered great difficulty in obtaining a suitable fox, 

canvas after canvas. Perhaps it would be but, eventually, he succeeded in procuring a 

as welt just to mention those works about fine-coated, though dead, Reynard, with brush 

which we specially talked We did not complete. Q r j a inal from ' 




It was not until 187T that Mr. Riviere 
painted a picture which, at one bound, 
brought him into the very front rank 
of artists. This was ** Circe," a creation 
as brilliant in conception as daring in 
originality. Smith thus speaks of the 
heroine of the Homeric legend : " She was 
a daughter of Helios, by Perse, and sister 
of .Esetes, distinguished for her magic arts. 
She dwelt in the Island of Mma, upon which 
Ulysses was cast. His companions, whom 
he sent to explore the island, tasted of the 
magic cup which Circe offered them, and 
were forthwith changed into swine, with the 
exception of Eurylochus, who brought the 
sad news to Ulysses. The latter, having 
received from Hermes the root moIy % which 
fortified him against enchantment, drank 
the magic cup without injury ; and then 
compelled Circe to restore his companions to 
their former shape. After this he tarried a 
whole year with her, and she became by him 
the mother of Telegonus, the reputed founder 
of Tusculum." In the picture, Circe is re- 
presented sitting on the tessellated pavement 
nursing her knees. The swine are in front 
of her, and endeavouring to raise themselves 
over the steep step. It is a striking picture, 
and one which did very much for its painter. 

Digitized by \Lr* 

Mr. Riviere, in reply to my inquiries re- 
garding Circe, said, " I was living in Kent at 
the time I painted it, and I kept pigs there ; 
as a matter of fact, three of them. I had 
styes made at the end of the garden. By- 
the-bye, pigs are remarkably good sitters. I 
have had a pig in tins very room. They are 
very easy to manage, and will do anything 
you require ; they really become quite sociable 
in time. I painted the figure of Circe in 
London, having by that time moved to the 
Addison Road. I put in the figure two or 
three times from a model, but could never 
get it to my liking. At last I fount! a lady 
friend who suggested the long-haired daughter 
of Helois admirably, and I got her to sit." 

The following year brought what many 
consider Mr. Riviere's masterpiece. This 
was " Daniel" Daniel's back is turned to 
the spectator. It is a ghastly -looking cell 
in which the great prophet stands with his 
hands bound behind his back. The bones 
which are scattered about the ground suggest 
their own terrible story. The lions are in a 
group in front of the man who would not 
bow his knee to the gods set up by the 
Babylonian monarch. As one looks at 
the picture it is not difficult to imagine 
the face of Daniel He stands there as calm 



as the still waters of a lake, and as firm as 
the great rocks which Nature has stt up 
as her monuments. The lions have come 
to a stand-still They appear cowed in the 
presence of this marvellous figure. They 
show their teeth and roar, but they seem to 
realize that the man of (Jod is not for them + 
It is simply a marvellous conception of the 
Biblical story. 

44 The hieroglyphics on the wall/ 3 said Mr. 
Riviere, "are Ninevehean ; I obtained them 
from marbles at the British Museum, a frieze 
from one of the Assyrian marbles, I first 
painted Daniel in profile, but 1 soon found it 
far more effective to blot out his face and paint 
him with his back to the spectator Daniel is 
clothed in a robe of black — an Assyrian cos- 
tume— which has a pattern in it of white and 
light green. I need hardly say that the lions 

were painted from those housed at that 

time at the Zoo* 

I was living at 


some little dis- 
tance from the 

Zoo, and as I 

eorld not paint 

there when the 

people were 

about, I used to 

get up at half- 
past five tn the 

morning and 

drive over, arriv- 
ing there at seven, 

and I would go 

on making my 

studies till nine. 

They had a fine 

lot of lions then. 

There are seven 

in the picture, 

and I made my 

studies from four. 

One was a fine 

Persian lion, and 

another, one of 

the grandest old 

beasts I ever met, 

a black - maned 

African — this 

latter is the centre 

lion in the group 

of »the picture, 

It ts now in the 

possession of Mr. 

is may, chairman 

of the White Star 

line of steamers." 

VoJ. ju-2. 

We passed over the pictures which he had 
painted after Daniel till we remembered 
" Genius Loci," exhibited at the Royal 
Academy in 1874. 

"This represented a dead lioness which — 
a thing I very seldom do — I painted right 
away* It was a life-sized figure, and I got 
through it in three or four days. The beast 
was sent up unexpectedly from the Zoo. It 
was a young animal, but a remarkably 
beautiful one. I remember when it was 
brought in and thrown down upon my 
'throne,' I found it just lying in the exact 
position I required. It was a great tempta- 
tion to paint it right away, and I succumbed, 
stopping all my other work for this purpose* 

"This kindness on the part of the Zoo autho- 
rities has been of many years' standing. They^ 
frequently inform me now if any animal dies, 
which they think I might like to make studies 


by Google 

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ftvm the Picinrt b* B, JtttrfeTt, ft A, 

from. When, lately, I wanted materials for 
ray anatomical lion, I received word from 
the Zoo that an old lion had just died there, 
and I went along and got a east of the parts 
I wanted." 

" Pa lbs Athene and the Swineherd's Dogs " 
was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1876* 
This work has been considerably altered. 
Two years ago the artist obtained it back 

from Mr, Alexan- 
der Henderson, 
and painted in a 
new figure. 

'this year also 
found "The 
Poacher" at the 
Dudley Gallery, a 
picture now in the 
possession of Sir 
Joseph Pulley. It 
is a most sugges- 
tive work. The 
poach er> at whose 
side arc a number 
of dead rabbits 
and his gun, has 
just heard ap- 
proaching foot- 
steps* He has 
crept behind the 
trunk of a tree, 
and is holding up 
a warning finger 
to his dog not to 
budge an inch, or 
to utter a sound 
which would 
betray him. The 
figure of the 
poacher was 
painted from a 
gardener in 
Gloucestershire, a 
very worthy old 
gentleman ; and 
the artist assured 
me that he must 
have felt no small 
amount of pain 
from the position 
in which he had 
to pose, inasmuch 
as he had to 
remain in a 
crouching atti- 
tude, and, like 
most gardeners, 
suffered from 
In the next year there were three pictures 
at the Academy: "A Legend of St. Patrick," 
" l.azarus," and "Sympathy/' The latter is 
now in the Royal Hollo way College collec- 
tion, and is, perhaps, one of the most popular 
that Mr. Riviere ever painted. There sits a 
little girl on the stairs; she is evidently in 
trouble. She rests her chin in her hands 
and looks very., vsry thoughtful for her years. 




by Google 

Original from 




MwhUed bv B, BMfnp ft A. 

A kindly - natured terrier is cuddling up 
close to her, with his head on her shoulder 
and an expression of sympathy on his face, 
which only an artist such as Mr, Riviere 
could create on those canine features* The 
dog was supplied by a dog-dealer, while the 
little one in disgrace on the stairs is no other 
thin Mr, Riviere's own little girl 

We did not forget " Fersepolis," exhibited 
in 1878, a wonderfully weird and vivid pic- 
ture, and one suggested to the artist by two 
lines from Fitzgerald's "Omar Khayyam *' : — 

They say the Lion and I lie Lizard keep 

The courts where Jarnshyd gloried and drank deep. 

It mitjht be remarked that, curiously in the 
original, the word " Fox " was substituted for 
" lion." The picture is well known. The 
ruined columns standing out against the star- 
lit sky ; the remains of the rock-built hall 
where jamshyd held his revels ; the lizards 
creeping out of the crevices ; the lions and 
their mates wandering stealthily in search of 
prey around all that remains of a once royal 

"The lions in the picture," said Mr. 
Riviere, " I obtained from the Zoo, I made 
exhaustive studies of the drawings of 
Persepolis in order to get my surroundings 
true and exact I discovered an old book 
which had illustrations giving the large stones 
which compose the background of my picture. 
I was ill at the time, but I got a man to trace 
these for me, You will notice how shallow 
the step?; are up which the lions are walking 
to the ruins above. I think they are correct, 

for, from ma- 
terials I gathered, 
I may say that 1 
painted stone for 

The Royal 
A cade nn ician 
painted two 
other pictures in 
a similar vein to 
this — "The 
Night Watch" 
and "The Kings 
Gateway/ "The 
King Drinks" 
was his diploma 
picture when 
made a Royal 
Academician in 

"The Poacher's 
Widow" was 
another very ad- 
mirable work. 
It was suggested to the artist by the game- 
keeper's story in "Yeast": — 

The merry hrown hares came leaping 

Over l he crest of the hill, 
Where iht clover and com lay sleeping 

Under ihe moonlight still. 
Leaping late and early. 

Till under their bite and their [tv;v\ 
The swedes and the wheat and the i«r]ey 

Lay cankered and trampled and dead* 
The |x*aehcr 7 s widow sal sighing 

On the side of the white chalk hank, 
Where under the gloomy hx woods 

One spH in the ley throve rank. 
She watched a long luft of driver, 

Where rabbit or hare never ran. 
For jfs I) lack sour haulm covered over 

The blood of a murdered man. 

"The Magician's Doorway' 3 was his prin- 
cipal work for 1882, whilst "The Miracle 
of the Swine/' painted in 1883, is another 
picture in which swine play a prominent part 

Amongst many other works of the year 
1884, the most striking is that of "The Eve 
of St, Bartholomew," a life-size picture. 
Quite a number of models sat for the woman 
who is to be seen in the corner with a face 
which tells its own tale, wondering when it 
will be her turn to die, and her faithful 
bloodhound is by her side. 

" Union is Strength " was one of four 
pictures exhibited in 1885. The artist said 
his idea was to paint a flock of sheep, 
each one of which possessed a distinct in- 
dividuality about its face- Sheep were 
brought into the studio; and a recollection 
of the picture in 'vlijh a flock of some fifty 



umvcnji i r ur muniuMn 



Fram thr: Picture by B. Rirttrt, R.A. 

or sixty fleecy-coated animals are positively 
Ignoring the barking of a particularly insig- 
nificant small dog will show how admirably 
the artist has realized his original intention. 

" Prometheus " and " Ganymede " were 
both telling pictures. The eagle In the latter 
was painted from the skin of the bird, and 
not from a stuffed one \ and the drawings used 
were from those monarchs of the air which 
sit in state within their prisons at the Zoo. 
Prometheus is hanging on a cliff above the 
Caspian Sea, and the sated eagle is seated 
above him. It was not easy work for 
the models to pose for the two pictures just 
referred to. A pulley was fixed in the roof 
of the studio, by which the model was 
supported, in order that the artist might be 
correct in all his details, 

Other pictures painted in the same year 
as "Prometheus " was exhibited were " Pale 
Cynthia " ; 4( Of a Fool and His Folly there 
is no End" ; a portrait of Mr. Lewis's dog ; 
and "Res Angusta." "Daniel's Answer to 
the King " came in 1890, and is as dramatic 
as its predecessor, " A Mighty Hunter 
Before the Lord" was his most important 
picture for 189 1 ; and in the following year, 
1892, " Dead Hector, n " A Master of Kings/* 
"Cupid Riding on a Lion," "A Day of 
Mortification, 15 and "The Haunted Temple." 

"The King's Libation/' showing an Assy- 
rian King pouring a libation of wine in front 
of the altar of some god, whilst at his feet 
lay th^ lions which he had slain in the chase, 
was painted in 1893- 

Digitized by dOOgle 

" Beyond the Reach of Man'? Footsteps" 
w + as Mr, Riviere's picture for 1894; the 
solitary bear in the Arctic regions having 
been painted from two Polar bears which 
were then at the Zoo, The grand old bear 
has since died, 

Mr. Riviere's most important picture at 
the Academy of last year was "Apollo's Car/' 
In a paper such as this it is impossible to 
refer to all the works which this famous 
Royal Academician has painted. It is inter- 
esting, however, to record what I learnt from 
the lips of Mr. Riviere himself regarding his 
methods, as we sat together in the studio 
through that chilly November afternoon. We 
had just been looking back upon "The 
Miracle of the Swine," and after the artist 
had remembered that he painted it whilst he 
had an exceedingly capital pig —that is, from 
a sitting point of view — he turned to me 
and said s— 

"The real pleasure of painting is in the 
work itself; when done, that pleasure is at an 
end. Painting is like the chase : who cares 
for the hare or the fox when the run is over ? 
You are almost inclined to throw them 

"The picture which was to be so beautiful, 
which really was beautiful before it was 
worked out into a concrete form by one's 
own unskilful hands, becomes almost hateful, 
and what was a Belief becomes a Doubt, a 

" I have already told you that I like the 
reproductions of my works : I really enjoy 





1 1 

i .« 

T £ 



by Google 

Original from 



looking at them. You see your own idea 
filtered through another mind, which gives it a 
touch of novelty which is not to be obtained 
for the original artist by any other means. 
You are always uneasy before your own work. 
I do not care how easily a picture is going 
when it h in the process of painting : a time 
comes when it becomes a battle between the 
painter and the picture, and a fight takes place 

the sense of novelty, a very important thing ! 
You begin your subject full of hope, and 
sometimes by losing sight of it for a time 
you recover some measure of this hope and 
become more enthusiastic about it. It is a 
most difficult thing to paint a solitary 
picture, at least I have found it so + A man 
must have a very strong belief in his own 
abilities if he can stick at the same picture 



as to which is to be the master. I have 
seldom known a case where this did not 
happen. I have worked on a picture for 
months, altered it and altered it a dq/en times 3 
and then gone back and returned to my 
first impressions. I generally have two or 
three pictures going at the same time, work- 
ing at one for some days, and then going on 
with another canvas. By so doing I keep up 

every day for a long period without becoming 
tired of it and finally disgusted with it. 

" I have before now taken out fairly good 
work on a canvas, simply because I had 
grown tired of it By keeping two or three 
canvases going at the same time all this is 
remedied, and I strongly advise the young 
painter to adopt this method, which he will 
find a fairly safe one." 

by Google 

Original from 

Rodney Stone. 

Jean's OaJU 

*f*4Et *u*JT JLcu*c tLdc i*€> &a*>c ML+untrn # Jka-u*c f%*+J ifcaT **£**» sr-%* urU* 

We and our fathers before us lived much the 
same life, but they with their railway trains 
and their steamboats belong to a different 
age. It ;s true that we can put history-books 
into their hands, and they can read from 
them of our weary struggle of two-and-twenty 
years with that great and evil man. They 
can learn how Freedom fled from the whole 
broad continent, and how Nelson's blood 
was shed, and Pitt's noble heart was broken 
in striving that she should not pass us for 
ever to take refuge with our brothers across 
the Atlantic. All this they can read, with 
the date of this treaty or that battle, but I 
do not know where they are to read of our- 
selves, of the folk we were, and th2 lives we 
led, and how the world seemed to our eyes 
when they were young as theirs are now. 

If I take up my pen to tell you about 
this, you must not look for any story at my 
hands, for I was only in my earliest man- 
hood when these things befell, and although 
I saw something of the stories of other 
lives, I could scarce t:laim one of my 
own. It is the love of a woman that makes 
the story of a man, and many a year was to 
pass before I first looked into the eyes of the 
mother of my children. To us it seems but 
an affair of yesterday, and yet those children 
can ndw reach the plums in the garden whilst 
we are seeking for a ladder, and where we 
once walked with their little hands in ours, 
we are glad now to lean upon their arms. 
But I shall speak of a time when the love of 
a mother was the only love I knew, and if 
you seek for something more, then it is not 
for you that I write. But if you would come 

* Facsimile of 
1 Rodney Stone.'* 
VoL xL-3. 

the MS. of the opening sentences of 


out with me into that forgotten world ; if you 
would know Boy Jim and Champion Harri- 
son ; if you would meet my father, one of 
Nelson's own men ; if you would catch a 
glimpse of that great seaman himself, and of 
George, afterwards the unworthy King of 
England ; if, above all, you would see my 
famous uncle, Sir Charles Tregellis, the King 
of the Bucks, and the great fighting men 
whose names are still household words 
amongst you, then give me your hand and let 
us start. 

But I must warn you also that, if you think 
you will find much that is of interest in 
your guide, you are destined to disappoint- 
ment. When I look over my bookshelves, I 
can see that it is only the wise and witty and 
valiant who have ventured to write down 
their experiences. For my own part, if I 
were only assured that I was as clever and 
brave as the average man about me, I 
should be well satisfied. Men of their 
hands have thought well of my brains, 
and men of brains of my hands, and that 
is the best that I can say for myself. 
Save in the one matter of having an inborn 
readiness for music, so that the mastery of any 
instrument comes very easily and naturally 
to me, I cannot recall any single advantage 
which I can boast over my fellows. In all 
things I have been a half-way man, for I am 
of middle height, my eyes are neither blue 
nor grey, and my hair, before Nature dusted 
it with her powder, was betwixt flaxen and 
brown. I may, perhaps, claim this : that 
through life I have never felt a touch of 
jealousy as I have admired a better man 
than myself, and that I have always seen all 
things as they are, myself included, which 




should count in my favour now that I sit 
down in my mature age to write my memo- 
ries, With your permissi on , then, we will 
push my own personality as far as possible 
out of the picture. If you can conceive me 
as a thin and colourless cord upon which my 
would-be pearls are strung, you will be accept- 
ing me upon the terms which I should wish. 

Our family, the Stones, have for many 
generations belonged to the Navy, and it has 
been a custom among us for the eldest son 
to take the name of his fathers favourite 
commander. Thus we can trace our lineage 
back to old Vernon Stone, who commanded 
a high-sterned, peak-nosed, fifty-gun ship 
against the Dutch. Through Hawke Stone 
and Ben bow Stone we came down to my 
father, Anson Stone, who in his turn christened 
me Rodney, at the Parish Church of St. 
Thomas at Portsmouth in the year of grace 

Out of my window as I write I can see my 
own great lad in the garden, and if I were 
to call out 4 * Nelson ! n you would see that I 
have been true to the traditions of our 

My dear mother, the best that ever a man 
had , was the second daughter of 
the Reverend John Tregellis, 
Vicar of Milton, which is a 
small parish upon the borders of 
the marshes of Langstone, She 
came of a poor family, but one 
of some position, for her elder 
brother was the famous Sir 
Charles Tregellis, who, having 
inherited the money of a wealthy 
East Indian merchant, became 
in time the talk of the town and 
the very particular friend of the 
Prince of Wales. Of him I 
shall have more to say hereafter ; 
but you will note now that he was 
my own uncle, and brother to my 

I can remember her all through her 
beautiful life, for she was but a girl 
when she married, and little more when 
I can first recall her busy fingers and 
her gentle voice, I see her as a lovely 
woman with kind, dove's eyes, some- 
what short of stature it is true, but 
carrying herself very bravely. In my 
memories of those days she is clad 
always in some purple shimmering 
stuff, with a white kerchief round 
her long white neck, and I see her 
fingers are turning and darting as 
she works at her knitting* 

her again in her middle years, sweet and 
loving, planning, contriving, achieving, with 
the few shillings a day of a lieutenant's pay 
on which to support the cottage at Friar's 
Oak, and to keep a fair face to the w r orld. 
And now, if I do but step into the parlour, I 
can see her once more, with over eighty years 
of saintly life behind her, silver-haired, placid- 
faced, with her dainty ribboned cap, her gold- 
rimmed glasses, and her woolly shawl with 
the blue border, I loved her young and I 
love her old, and when she goes she will take 
something with her which nothing in the 
world can ever make good to me again. 
You may have many friends, you who 
read this, and you may chance to marry 
more than once, but your mother is your 
first and your last. Cherish her then, 
whilst you may, for the day will come when 
every hasty deed or heedless word will .come 
back with its sting to live in your own heart. 
Such, then, was my mother ; and as to my 
father, I can describe him best when I come 
to the time when he returned to us from the 
Mediterranean, During all my childhood he 
was only a name to me, and a fact in a 
miniature which hung round my mother's 


HER tlN<JthS AftE 

t «fflBterffiftBw° 





neck. At first they told me he was fighting 
the French, and then after some years one 
heard less about the French and more about 
General Buonaparte. I remember the awe 
with which one day in Thomas Street, Ports- 
mouth, I saw a print of the great Corsican 
in a bookseller's window. This, then, was 
the arch enemy with whom my father spent 
his life in terrible and ceaseless contest. 
To my childish imagination it was a personal 
affair, and I for ever saw my father and this 
clean-shaven, thin-lipped man swaying and 
reeling in a deadly, year-long grapple. It was 
not until I went to the Grammar School that 
I understood how many other little boys 
there were whose fathers were in the same 

Only once in those long years did my father 
return home, which will show you what it 
meant to be the wife of a sailor in those days. 
It was just after we had moved from Ports- 
mouth to Friar's Oak whither he came for a 
week before he set sail with Admiral Jervis 
to help him to turn his name into Lord St. 
Vincent. I remember that he frightened 
as well as fascinated me with his talk of 
battles, and I can recall as if it were yesterday 
the horror with which I gazed upon a spot 
of blood upon his shirt ruffle, which had 
come, as I have no doubt, from a mischance 
in shaving. At the time I never questioned 
that it had spurted from some stricken 
Frenchman or Spaniard, and I shrank from 
him in terror when he laid his horny hand 
upon my head. My mother wept bitterly 
when he was gone, but for my own part I 
was not sorry to see his blue back and white 
shorts going down the garden walk, for I felt 
with the heedless selfishness of a child that 
we were closer together, she and I, when 
we were alone. 

I was in my eleventh year when we moved 
from Portsmouth to Friar's Oak, a little 
Sussex village to the north of Brighton, which 
was recommended to us by my uncle, Sir 
Charles Tregellis, one of whose grand friends, 
Lord Avon, had had his seat near there. 
The reason of our moving was that living 
was cheaper in the country, and that it was 
easier for my mother to keep up the appear- 
ance of a gentlewoman when away from the 
circle of those to whom she could not refuse 
hospitality. They were trying times those to 
all save the farmers, who made such profits 
that they could, as I have heard, afford to let 
half their land lie fallow, while living like 
gentlemen upon the rest. Wheat was at no 
shillings a quarter, and the quartern loaf at 
one and ninepence. Even in the quiet of 

Digitized b/Gt 

the cottage of Friar's Oak we could scarce 
have lived, were it not that in the blockading 
squadron in which my father was stationed 
there was the occasional chance of a little 
prize-money. The line-of-battle ships them- 
selves, tacking on and off outside Brest, could 
earn nothing save honour ; but the frigates in 
attendance made prizes of many coasters, and 
these, as is the rule of the service, were counted 
as belonging to the fleet, and their produce 
divided into head-money. In this manner 
my father was able to send home enough to 
keep the cottage and to send me to the day 
school of Mr. Joshua Allen, where for four 
years I learned all that he had to teach. It 
was at Allen's school that 1 first knew Jim 
Harrison, Boy Jim as he has always been 
called, the nephew of Champion Harrison of 
the village smithy. I can see him as he was 
in those days with great, floundering, half- 
formed limbs like a Newfoundland puppy, 
and a face that set every woman's head 
round as he passed her. It was in those 
days that we began our lifelong friendship, 
a friendship which still in our waning years 
binds us closely as two brothers. I taught him 
his exercises, for he never loved the sight of 
a book, and he in turn made me box and 
wrestle, tickle trout on the Adur, and snare 
rabbits on Ditchling Down, for his hands 
were as active as his brain was slow. He 
was two years my elder, however, so that, long 
before I had finished my schooling, he had 
gone to help his uncle at the smithy. 

Friar's Oak is in a dip of the Downs, and 
the forty-third milestone between London 
and Brighton lies on the skirt of the village. 
It is but a small place with an ivied church, 
a fine vicarage, and a row of red-brick cot- 
tages each in its own little garden. At one 
end was the forge of Champion Harrison 
with his house behind it, and at the other 
was Mr. Allen's school. The yellow cottage, 
standing back a little from the road, with 
its upper story bulging forward and a criss- 
cross of black woodwork let into the plaster, 
is the one in which we lived. I do not know 
if it is still standing, but I should think it 
likely, for it was not a place much given to 

Just opposite to us, at the other side of 
the broad, white road, was the Friar's Oak 
Inn, which was kept in my day by John 
Cummings, a man of excellent repute at 
home, but liable to strange outbreaks when 
he travelled, as will afterwards become ap- 
parent. Though there was a stream of 
traffic upon the road, the coaches from 
Brighton were too fresh to stop, and those 




from London too eager to reach their 
journey's end, so that if it had not been for 
an occasional broken trace or loosened 
wheel, the landlord would have had only 
the thirsty throats of the village to trust 
to. Those were the days when the 
Prince of Wales had just built his singular 
palace by thy sea, and so from May to 
September, which was the Brighton season, 
there was never a day that from one to two 
hundred curricles, chaises, and phaetons did 
not rattle past our doors- Many a summer 
evening have Boy Jim and I lain upon the 
grass, watching all 
these grand folk^ 
and cheering the 
London coaches 
as they came roar- 
ing through the 

was the Friar's Oak blacksmith, and he had 
his nickname because he fought Tom 
Johnson when he held the English belt, and 
would most certainly have beaten him had 
the Bedfordshire magistrates not appeared to 
break up the fight For years there was 
no such glutton to take punishment and no 
more finishing hitter than Harrison, though 
he was always, as I understand, a slow one 
upon his feet. At last, in a fight with Black 
Baruk the Jew, he finished the battle with 
such a lashing hit that he not only knocked 
his opponent over the inner ropes, but he 

left him betwixt life 
and death for a long 
three weeks. During 
all this time Harri- 
son lived half de- 
mented, expecting 
every hour to feel 
the hand of a Bow 
Street runner upon 
his collar, and to be 
tried for his life. 



dust clouds, leaders and wheelers stretched 
to their work, the bugles screaming and the 
coachmen with their low-crowned, curly- 
brimmed hats, and their faces as scarlet as 
their coats. The passengers used to laugh 
when Boy Jim shouted at them, but if they 
could have read his big, half-set limbs and 
his loose shoulders aright, they would have 
looked a little harder at him, perhaps, and 
given him back his cheer. 

Boy Jim had never known a father or a 
mother, and his whole lire had been spent 
with his uncle, Champion Harrison, Harrison 

This experience, with the prayers of his wife, 
made him forswear the ring for ever and 
carry his great muscles into the one trade in 
which they seemed to give him an advantage, 
There was a good business to be done at 
Friar's Oak from the passing traffic and the 
Sussex farmers, so that he soon became the 
richest of the villagers ; and he came to 
church on a Sunday with his w + ife and his 
nephew, looking as respectable a family man 
as one would wish to see. 

He was ,-not -a tall man, not more than 
5 ft. 7in.. and it was often said that if he had 




had an extra inch of reach he would have 
been a match for Jackson or Belcher at their 
best. His chest was like a barrel, and his 
forearms were the most powerful that I have 
ever seen, with deep grooves between the 
smooth-swelling muscles like a piece of water- 
worn rock. In spite of his strength, how- 
ever, he was of a slow, orderly, and kindly 
disposition, so that there was no man more 
beloved over the whole country side. His 
heavy, placid, clean-shaven face could set 
very sternly, as I have seen upon occasion ; 
but for me and every child in the village 
there was ever a smile upon his lips and a 
greeting in his eyes. There was not a beggar 
upon the country side who did not know 
that his heart was as soft as his muscles were 

There was nothing that he liked to talk of 
more than his old battles, but he would stop 
if he saw his little wife coming, for the one 
great shadow in her life was the ever-present 
fear that some day he would throw down 
sledge and rasp and be off to the ring once 
more. And you must be reminded here 
once for all that that former calling of 
his was by no means at that time in 
the debased condition to which it afterwards 
fell. Public opinion has gradually become 
opposed to it for the reason that it came 
largely into the hands of rogues, and because 
it fostered ringside ruffianism. Even -the 
honest and brave pugilist was found to draw 
villainy round him, just as the pure and 
noble race-horse does. For this reason the 
Ring is dying in England, and we may hope 
that when Caunt and Bendigo have passed 
away, they may have none to succeed them. 
But it was different in the days of which I 
speak. Public opinion was then largely in 
its favour, and there were good reasons why 
it should be so. It was a time of war, when 
England with an Army and Navy composed 
only of those who volunteered to fight 
because they had fighting blood in them, 
had to encounter, as they would now have 
to encounter, a power which could by 
despotic law turn every citizen into a 
soldier. If the people had not been full 
of this last for combat, it is certain that 
England must have been overborne. And it 
was thought, and is on the face of it reason- 
able, that a struggle between two indomitable 
men with thirty thousand to view it and 
three million to discuss it, did help to set 
a standard of hardihood and endurance. 
Brutal it was, no doubt, and its brutality is 
the end of it ; but it is not so brutal as war, 
which will survive it Whether it is logical 

now to tench the people to be peaceful in an 
age when their very existence may come to 
depend upon their being warlike, is a ques- 
tion for wiser heads than mine. But that 
was what we thought of it in the days of your 
grandfathers, and that is why you might find 
statesmen and philanthropists like Windham, 
Fox, and Althorp at the side of the Ring. 

The mere fact that solid men should 
patronize it was enough in itself to prevent 
the villainy which afterwards crept in. For 
over twenty years, in the days of Jackson, 
Brain, Cribb, the Belchers, Pearce, Gully, 
and the rest, the leaders of the Ring were 
men whose honesty was above suspicion ; 
and those were just the twenty years when 
the Ring may, as I have said, have served a 
national purpose. You have heard how 
Pearce saved the Bristol girl from the burning 
house, how Jackson won the respect and 
friendship of the best men of his age, and 
how Gully rose to a seat in the first Reformed 
Parliament. These were the men who set 
the standard, and their trade carried with it 
this obvious recommendation, that it is one in 
which no drunken or foul-living man could 
long succeed. There were exceptions among 
them, no doubt ; bullies like Hickman and 
brutes like Berks ; in the main I say again 
that they were honest men, brave and en- 
during to an incredible degree, and a credit 
to the country which produced them. It 
was, as you will see, my fate to see some- 
thing of them, and I speak of what I know. 

In our own village I can assure you that 
we were very proud of the presence of such 
a man as Champion Harrison, and if folks 
stayed at the inn, they would walk down as 
far as the smithy just to have the sight of 
him. And he was worth seeing, too, especially 
on a winter's night w/en the red glare of the 
forge would beat upon his great muscles and 
upon the proud, hawk-face of Boy Jim as 
they heaved and swayed over some glowing 
plough coulter, framing themselves in sparks 
with every blow. He would strike once with 
his thirty-pound swing sledge, and Jim twice 
with his hand hammer; and the "Clunk — 
clink, clink ! Clunk— clink, clink ! " would 
bring me flying down the village street, on 
the chance that since they were both at the 
anvil, there might be a place for me at the 

Only once during those village years can I 
remember Champion Harrison showing me 
for an instant the sort of man that he had 
been. It chanced one summer morning, 
when Boy Jim and I were standing by the 
smithy door, that then; rame a private coach 





from Brighton, with its four fresh horses* and 
its brass-work shining, flying along with such 
a merry rattle and jingling, that the Champion 
came running out with a half-fullered shoe in 
his tongs to have a look at it. A gentleman 
in a white coachman s cape — a Corinthian, 
as we would call him in those days — was 
driving, and half-a-dozen of his fellows, 
laughing and shouting, were on the top be- 
hind him, It may have been that the bulk 
of the smith caught his eye, and that he acted 
in pure wantonness, or it may possibly have 
been an accident, but as he swung past, the 
twenty-foot thong of the driver's whip hiss^a 
round and we heard the sharp snap of it 
across Harrison's leather apron. 

" Halloa, master ! " shouted the smith, look- 
ing after him, t( You're not to be trusted on 
the box until you can handle your whip 
bet tern that* 1 

"What's that?" cried the driver, pulling 
up his team. 

" I bid you have a care, master, or ther' 

uigitiztf Dy\^uu^K 

will be some one-eyed 
people along the road you 

" Oh, you say that, do 
you ? " said the driver, 
putting his whip into its 
socket and pulling off his 
driving gloves, " I'll have 
a little talk with you, my 
fine fellow." 

The sporting gentlemen 
of those days were very 
fine boxers for the most 
part, for it was the mode 
to take a course of Men- 
doza, just as a few years 
afterwards there was no 
man about town who had 
not had the mufflers on 
with Jackson. Knowing 
their own prowess, they 
never refused the chance 
of a wayside adventure, and 
it was seldom indeed that 
the bargee or the naviga- 
tor had much to boast of 
after a young blood had 
taken off his coat to him. 

This one swung himself 
off the box-seat with the 
alacrity of a man who has 
no doubts about the upshot of the quarrel, 
and after hanging his caped coat upon the 
swingle-bar, he daintily turned up the ruffled 
cuffs of his white cambric shirt. 

41 I'll pay you for your advice, my man, 1 ' 
said he* 

I am sure that the men upon the coach 
knew who the burly smith was, and looked 
upon it as a prime joke to see their companion 
walk into such a traD They roared with 
delight, and bellowed out scraps of advice to 

44 Knock some of the soot off him, Lord 
Frederick!" they shouted "Give the 
Johnny Raw his breakfast Chuck him in 
among his own cinders ! Sharp's the word, 
or you'll see the back of him/" 

Encouraged by these cries, the young 
aristocrat advanced upon his man. The 
smith never moved, but his mouth set grim 
and hard, while his tufted brows came down 
over his keen, grey eyes. The tongs had 
fallen, and his hands were hanging free. 

" Have a care, master/' said he* u You'll 
get pepper if you don't." 

Something in the assured voice, and some- 
thing also in the quiet pose, warned the 
young lord of his danger. I saw him look 




hard at his antagonist, and 
as hu did so his hands 
and his jaw dropped to- 

(t By Gad!" he cried, 
" It's Jack Harrison ! n 

*' My name, master ! " 

" And I thought you 
were some Sussex chaw- 
bacon ! Why, man, I 
haven't seen you since 
the day you nearly killed 
Black Baruk, and cost 
me a cool hundred by 
doing it." 

How they roared on the 

( * Smoked ! Smoked, by 
Gad ! > J they yelled. " It's 
Jack Harrison the bruiser ! 
Lord Frederick was going 
to take on the ex-cham- 
pion. Give him one on 
the apron, Fred, and see 
what happens." 

But the driver had al- 
ready climbed back into his 
perch, laughing as loudly 
as any of his companions. 

"We'll let you off this 
time, Harrison/ 1 said he. 
" Are those your sons down there ? " 

''This is my nephew, master/' 

*' Here's a guinea for him ! He 
shall never say 1 robbed him of his 
uncle." And so, having turned the 
laugh in his favour by his merry 
way of taking it, he cracked his 
whip and away they flew to make 
London under the five hours; while 
Jack Harrison, with his half-fullered shoe in 
his hand, went whistling back to his forge. 



So much for Champion Harrison ! Now, I 
wish to say something more about Boy Jim, 
not only because he was the comrade of my 
youth, but because you will find as you go 
on that this book is his story rather than 
mine, and that there came a time when his 
name and his fame were in the mouths of 
all England. You will bear with me, there- 
fore, while I tell you of his character as it 
was in those days, and especially of one very 
singular adventure which neither of us are 
likely to forget. 

It was strange to see Jim with his uncle 

Digitized by G< 


and his aunt, for he seemed to be of another 
race and breed to them. Often I have 
watched them come up the aisle upon a 
Sunday, first the square, thick -set man, and 
then the little, worn, anxious-eyed woman* 
and last this glorious lad with his clear-cut 
face, his black curls, and his step so springy 
and light that it seemed as if he were hound 
to earth by some lesser tie than the heavy- 
footed villagers round him. He had not yet 
attained his full six foot of stature, but no 
judge of a man (and every woman at least is 
one) could look at his perfect shoulders, his 
narrow loins, and his proud head that sat 
upon his neck like a flower upon its stalk, 
without feeling that sober joy which all that 
is beautiful in Nature gives to us — a vague 
self -con tent, as though in some way we also 
had a hand in the making of it 




But we are used to associate beauty with 
softness in a man. I do not know why they 
should be so coupled, and th :y never were with 
Jim. Of all men that I have know T n, he was 
the most iron-hard in body and in mind. 
Who was there among us who could walk 
with him, or run with him, or swim with him? 
Who on all the country side, save only Boy 
Jim, would have swung himself over Wolston- 
bury Cliff, and clambered down a hundred 
f jet with the mother hawk flapping at his ears 
in the vain struggle to hold him from her 
nest? He was but sixteen, with his gristle 
not yet all set into bone, when he fought and 
beat Gipsy Lee, of Burgess Hill, who called 
himself the " Cock of the South Downs." It 
was after this that Champion Harrison took 
his training as a boxer in hand. 

" Td rather you left millin' alone, Boy 
Jim," said he, "and so had the missus; but 
if mill you must, it will not be my fault if you 
cannot hold up your hands to anything in 
the south country." 

And it was not long before he made good 
his promise. 

I have said already that Boy Jim had no 
love for his books, but by that I meant his 
school-books, for when it came to the read- 
ing of romances or of anything which had a 
touch of gallantry or adventure, there was no 
tearing him away from it until it was finished. 
When such a book came into his hands, 
Friar's Oak and the smithy became a dream 
to him, and his life was spent out upon the 
ocean or wandering over the broad continents 
with his heroes. And he would draw me 
into his enthusiasms also, so that I was glad 
to play Friday to his Crusoe when he pro- 
claimed that the Clump at Clayton was a 
desert island, and that w r e were cast upon it 
for a week. But when I found that we were 
actually to sleep out there without covering 
every night, and that he proposed that our 
food should be the sheep of the Downs 
(wild goats — " he goats," he called them) 
cooked upon a fire, which was to be made 
by the rubbing together of two sticks, my 
heart failed me, and on the very first night I 
crept away to my mother. But Jim stayed 
out there for the whole weary week — a wet 
week it was, too ! — and came back at the 
end of it looking a deal wilder and dirtier 
than his hero does in the picture-books. It 
is well that he had only promised to stay a 
week, for, if it had been a month, he would 
have died of cold and hunger before his 
pride would have let him come home. 

His pride !— that was the deepest thing in 
all Jim's nature. It is a mixed quality 


half a 
man out of 
it hard for 
fallen. Jim 

to my mind, half a virtue 
vice : a virtue in holding a 
the dirt; a vice in making 
him to rise when once he has 
was proud down to the very marrow of his 
bones. You remember the guinea that 
the young lord had thrown him from the 
box of the coach ? Two days later somebody 
picked it from the roadside mud. Jim only 
had seen where it had fallen, and he would 
not deign even to point it out to a beggar. 
Nor would he stoop to give a reason in such 
a case, but would answer all remonstrances 
with a curl of his lip and a flash of his dark 
eyes. Even at school he was the same, with 
such a sense of his own dignity, that other 
folk had to think of it too. He might say, 
as he did say, that a right angle was a proper 
sort of angle, or put Panama in Sicily, but 
old Joshua Allen would as soon have thought 
of raising his cane against him as he would 
of letting me off if I had said as much. 
And so it was that, although Jim was the 
son of nobody, and I of a King's officer, it 
always seemed to me to have been a con- 
descension on his part that he should have 
chosen me as his friend. 

It was this pride of Boy Jim's which led 
to an adventure which makes me shiver now 
when I think of it. 

It happened in the August of '99, or it 
may have been in the early days of September, 
but I remember that we heard the cuckoo 
in Patcham Wood, and that Jim said that 
perhaps it was the last of him. I was still at 
school, but Jim had left, he being nigh 
sixteen and I thirteen. It was my Saturday 
half-holiday, and we spent it, as we often did, 
out upon the Downs. Our favourite place 
was beyond Wolstonbury, where we could 
stretch ourselves upon the soft, springy, chalk 
grass among the plump little Southdown 
sheep, chatting with the shepherds, as they 
leaned upon their queer old Pyecombe crooks, 
made in the days when Sussex turned out 
more iron than all the counties of England. 

It was there that we lay upon that glorious 
afternoon. If we chose to roll upon our right 
sides, the whole w r eald lay in front of us, with 
the North Downs curving away in olive- 
green folds, with here and there the snow- 
white rift of a chalk-pit ; if we turned upon 
our left, we overlooked the huge blue stretch 
of the Channel. A convoy, as I can well re- 
member, was coming up it that day, the 
timid flock of merchantmen in front ; the 
frigates, like well - trained dogs, upon the 
skirts ; and two burly drover line-of-battle 
ships rolling along behind them. My fancy 




was soaring out to my father upon the waters, 
when a word from Jim brought it back on to 
the grass like a broken-winged gull, 

" Rodd\y T said he, "have you heard that 
CluTe Royal is haunted ? " 

Had I heard it? Of course I had heard 
it. Who was there in all the Down country 
who had not heard of the Walker of Cliffe 

u Do you know the story of it, Roddy?" 

" Why," said I, with some pride, " I ought 

Lord Avon the fourth. They are fond of 
playing cards for money, these great people, 
and they played and played for two days 
and a night Lord Avon lost and Sir 
Lothian lost, and my uncle lost, and Captain 
Harrington won until he could win no more. 
He won their money, but above all he won 
papers from his elder brother which meant ;. 
great deal to him. It was late on a Monday 
night that they stopped playing. On the 
Tuesday morning Captain Harrington was 



to know it, seeing that my mother's brother, 
Sir Charles Tregellis, was the nearest friend 
of Lord Avon, and was down at his card 
party when the thing happened* I heard the 
vicar and my mother talking about it last 
week, and it was all so clear to me that I 
might have been there when the murder was 

" It is a strange story," said Jim, thought- 
fully ; tL hut when I asked my aunt about it, 
she would give me no answer ; and as to my 
uncle, he cut me short at the very mention 
of it." 

" There is a good reason for that," said I, 
" for Lord Avon was, as I have heard, your 
uncles best friend ; and it is but natural that 
he would not wish to speak of his disgrace." 

" Tell me the story, Roddy," 

"It is an old one now — fourteen years old 

and yet they have not got to the end of it. 

There were four of them who had come down 

from London to spend a few days in Lord 

Avon's old house. One was his own young 

brother, Captain Harrington. Another was 

his cousin, Sir I,othtan Hume ; Sir Charles 

Tregellis, my uncle ? was the third, and 
Vol *i.— 4, 

found dead beside his bed with his throat 

H And Lord Avon did it ? " 

(< His papers were found burned in the 
grate, his wristband was clutched in the dead 
man's hand, and his knife lay beside the 

" Did they hang him, then ? " 

"They were too slow in laying hands upon 
him. He waited until he saw that they had 
brought it home to him, and then he fled. 
He has never been seen since, but it is said 
that he reached America." 

" And the ghost walks ? " 

" There are a hundred who have seen it." 

" Why is the house still empty ? " 

" Because it is in the keeping of the law. 
Lord Avon had no children, and Sir Lothian 
Hume— the same who was at the card party 
— is his nephew and heir. But he can touch 
nothing until he can prove Lord Avon to be 

Jim lay silent for a bit, plucking at the 
short grass with his fingers. 

*' Roddy," said he at last, " will you come 
with me to-night and look for the ghost ? " 




It took me aback, the very thought of it. 

"My mother would not let me." 

" Slip out when she's abed. I'll wait for 
you at the smithy." 

" Cliffe Royal is locked." 

" I'll open a window easy enough." 

" Tm afraid, Jim." 

" But you are not afraid if you are with 
me, Roddy. Til promise you that no ghost 
shall hurt you." 

So I gave him my word that I would 
come, and then all the rest of the day I went 
about the most sad-faced lad in Sussex. 
It was all very well for Boy Jim ! It was 
that pride of his which was taking him 
there. He would go because there was no 
one else on the country side that would 
dare. But I had no pride of that sort. I 
was quite of the same way of thinking as 
the others, and would as soon have thought 
of passing my night at Jacob's gibbet on 
Ditchling Common as in the haunted house 
of Cliffe Royal. Still, I could not bring 
myself to desert Jim ; and so, as I say, I 
slunk about the house with so pale and 
peaky a face that my dear mother would 
have it that I had been at the green apples, 
and sent me to bed early with a dish of 
camomile tea for my supper. 

England went to rest betimes in those 
days, for there were few who could afford the 
price of candles. When I looked out of my 
window just after the clock had gone ten, 
there was not a light in the village save only 
at the inn. It was but a few feet from the 
ground, so I slipped out, and there was Jim 
waiting for me at the smithy corner. We 
crossed the John's Common together, and 
so past Ridden's Farm, meeting only one or 
two riding officers upon the way. There was 
a brisk wind blowing and the moon kept 
peeping through the rifts of the scud, so 
that our road was sometimes silver-clear, and 
sometimes so black that we found ourselves 
among the brambles and gorse-bushes which 
lined it. We came at last to the wooden 
gate with the high stone pillars by the road- 
side, and, looking through between the rails, 
we saw the long avenue of oaks, and at the 
end of this ill-boding tunnel, the pale face of 
the house glimmering in the moonshine. 

That would have been enough for me, that 
one glimpse of it, and the sound of the 
night wind sighing and groaning among the 
branches. But Jim swung the gate open, and 
up we went, the gravel squeaking beneath our 
tread. It towered high, the old house, with 
many little windows in which the moon 
glinted, and with a strip of water running 

round three sides of it. The arched door 
stood right in the face of us, and on one side 
a lattice hung open upon its hinge. 

" We're in luck, Roddy," whispered Jim. 
" Here's one of the windows open." 

" Don't you think we've gone far enough, 
Jim?" said I, with my teeth chattering. 

"I'll lift you in first." 

" No, no, I'll not go first." 

"Then I will." He gripped the sill and 
had his knees on it in an instant. " Now, 
Roddy, give me your hands." With a pull 
he had me up beside him, and a moment 
later we were both in the haunted house. 

How hollow it spunded when we jumped 
down on to the wooden floor ! There was 
such a sudden boom and reverberation that 
we both stood silent for a moment Then 
Jim burst out laughing. 

" What an old drum of a place it is ! " he 
cried ; " we'll strike a light, Roddy, and see 
where we are." 

He had brought a candle and a tinder-box 
in his pocket. When the flame burned up, 
we saw an arched stone roof above our heads, 
and broad deal shelves all round us covered 
with dusty dishes. It was the pantry. 

" I'll show you round," said Jim, merrily, 
and, pushing the door open, he led the way 
into the hall. I remember the high, oak- 
panelled walls with the heads of deer jutting 
out, and a single white bust, which sent my 
heart into my mouth, in the corner. Many 
rooms opened out of this, and we wandered 
from one to the other — the kitchens, the 
still-room, the morning-room, the dining- 
room, all filled with the same choking smell 
of dust and of mildew. 

" This is where they played the cards, Jim," 
said I, in a hushed voice. " It was on that 
very table." 

" Why, here are the cards themselves ! " 
cried he ; and he pulled a brown towel from 
something in the centre of the sideboard. 
Sure enough it was a pile of playing-cards — 
forty packs, I should think, at the least — 
which had lain there ever since that tragic 
game which was played before I was born. 

" I wonder whence that stair leads," said Jim. 

" Don't go up there, Jim ! " I cried, clutch- 
ing at his arm. " That must lead to the 
room of the murder." 

" How do you know that?" 

" The vicar said that they saw on the ceil- 
ing Oh, Jim, you can see it even now ! " 

He held up his candle, and there was a great, 
dark smudge upon the white plaster above us. 

" I believe you're right," said he ; " but 
anyhow I'm going to have a look at it" 




"Don't, Jim, don't!" I cried 

11 Tut, Roddy ! you can stay here if you 
are afraid- I won't he more than a minute. 
There's no use going on a ghost hunt 

unless oh, lor' ! there *s something coming 

down the stairs !" 

upon the stairs. Jim sprang after it, and I 
was left half-fainting in the moonlight, 

Hut it was not for long, He was down 
again in a minute, and, passing his hand 
under my arm, he half led and half carried 
me out of the house. It was not until we 


I heard it too a shuffling footstep in the 
room above, and then a creak from the steps, 
and then another creak, and another. I saw 
Jim's face as if it had been carved out of 
ivory, with his parted lips and his staring 
eyes fixed upon the black square of the 
stair opening. He still held the light, but 
his fingers twitched, and with every twitch 
tl e shadows sprang from the walls to the 
ceiling, As to myself, my knees gave way 
under me, and I found myself on the floor 
crouching down behind Jim, with a scream 
frozen in my throat. And still the step came 
slowly from stair to stair. 

Then, hardly daring to look and yet 
unable to turn away my eyes, I saw a figure 
dimly outlined in the corner upon which the 
stair opened. There was a silence in which 
I could hear my poor heart thumping, and 
then when I looked again the figure was gone* 
and the low creak, creak was heard once more 

Digitized by K*i 

were in the fresh night air again that he 
opened his mouth* 

" Can you stand, Roddy ? " 

"Yes, but I'm shaking*" 

"So am I, "said he, passing his hand over 
his forehead u I ask your pardon, Roddy, 
I was a fool to bring you on such an errand, 
But I never believed in such things* I know 
better now*" 

'* Could it have been a man, Jim?" I 
asked, plucking up my courage now that I 
could hear the dogs barking on the farms. 

" It was a spirit, Rodney," 

" How do you know? " 

" Because I followed it and saw it vanish 
into a wall, as easily as an eel into sand* 
Why, Roddy, what's amiss now?" 

My fears were all back upon me, and 
every nerve creeping with horror* "Take 
me away, Jim ! Take mc away ! " I cried. 

I was glaring down the avenue, and his eyes 




followed mine. Amid the gloom of the oak 
trees something was coming towards us. 

" Quiet, Roddy!" whispered Jim. " By 
heavens, come what may, my arms are going 
round it this time/' 

We crouched as motionless as the trunks 
behind us. Heavy steps ploughed their way 
through the soft gravel, and a broad figure 
loomed upon us in the darkness, 

Jim sprang upon it like a tiger* 

u You're not a spirit, anyway ! " he cried. 

The man gave a shout of surprise, and 
the ti a growl of rage, 

*' What the deuce ! " he roared, and then, 
"HI break your ntrck if you don't let go." 

The threat might not have loosened Jim's 
grip, but the voice did. 

"Why, uncle I" he cried. 

"Well, I'm blessed if it isn't Boy Jim ■ 
And what's this? Why, it's young Master 
Rodney Stonr, as I'm a living sinner ! What 
in the world are you two doing up at Cliffe 
Royal at this time of night ? tJ 

We had alt moved out into the moonlight, 
and there was 
Champion Harri- 
son with a big 
bundle on his 
arm, and such a 
look of amaze- 
ment upon his 
face as would 
have brought a 
smile back on to 
mine had my 
heart not still 
been cramped 
with fear. 

il We're ex- 
ploring/ 1 said 

" Exploring, 

are you 


I don't think you 
were meant to b-j 
Captain Cooks, 
either of you, for 
never saw such 
pair of peeled tur 
nip faces. Why, 
Jim, what are you 
afraid of ? " 

" I'm not afraid 
uncle. I never was 
afraid ; but spirit 
are new to me 
and :] 



" I've been in Cliffe Royal, and we've seen 
the ghost." 

The Champion gave a whistle. 
" That's the game T is it ? " said he. " Did 
you have speech with it ? v 
" It vanished first.' 
The Champion whistled once more. 
" I've heard there is something of the sort 
up yonder/' said he ; si but it's not a thing as 
I would advise you to meddle with. There's 
enough trouble, with the folk of this world, 
Boy Jim, without going out of your way to 
mix up with those of another. As to young 
Master Rodney Stone, if his good mother 
saw that white face of his, she'd never let 
him come to the smithy more. Walk slowly 
on, and III see you back to Friar's Oak/ j 

We had gone half a mile, perhaps, when 
the Champion overtook us, and I could not 
but observe that the bundle was no longer 
under his arm. We were nearly at the 
smithy before Jim asked the question which 
was already in my mind* 

11 What took ) 01/ up to Cliffe Royal, uncle? " 

11 Well, as a man 
gets on in years," 
said the Cham- 
pion, *' there's 
many a duty 
turns up that the 
likes of you have 
no idea of. When 
you're near forty 
yourself, you'll 
maybe know the 
truth of what I 

So that was all 
we could draw 
from him ; but, 
young as I was, 
I had heard of 
coast smuggling 
and of packages 
carried to lonely 
places at night, 
so that from that 
time on, if I had 
heard that the 
preventives had 
made a capture, 
I was never easy 
until I saw the 
jolly face of 
Champion Harri- 
son looking out 
of his smithy 
jiM, Original frorai 

Charles Dickens s Manuscripts, 

By J, Holt Schooling. 

N these days of literary out- 
pouring, when there is so 
much "realistic literature 1 ' 
that is not real, but which 
for the most part is only 
nauseous, it is a relief to turn 
back to Dickens, We will, on the present 
occasion, briefly glance over the original 
manuscripts of Charles Dickens's works, 
which I have been allowed to freely handle 
partly by the kindness of Miss Georgina 
Hogarth, the sole surviving executrix of 
Charles Dickens, partly by the courtesy of 
the guardians of these most fascinating 
treasures — to this lady, and to these 
guardians, I tender my sincere thanks for 
the privilege granted to me, 

My first intention was to show here only 
facsimiles of chosen pieces of the original 
manuscripts, but^ as most of them measure 
S^in. by 7}^in.,aml as, with few exceptions, 
the writing is too small to bear a reduction 

is from the original document signed by 
11 E. Pickwick/' a celebrated coach proprietor 
at Bath, from whom, or from whose coaches, 
Dickens derived the name of his hero in 
"Pickwick." No, i reads; — 

I beg to acknowledge the receipt of Your Favor 
Inclosing a Hill for Seventy Four Pounds Seven 
Shillings and Six Pence — which I have acknowledge! 
as directed on the Back of ihe Bill — and JVnnit Me 
tu acknowledge Myself much obliyM by Your Kind 
a Item ion to the ISusiness, and am, Dear Sir, Your 
mo[sl] Glred* Servant, E. Pickwick, 

During my search for the manuscript of 
"Pickwick/' I heard from one source that 
the original was in America. The Americans 
are zealous collectors of Charles Dickens's 
letters and writings* and one day when I was 
examining volume after volume of the 
original manuscripts, their keeper told me 
that many Americans go to him every year, 
and beg permission "just to touch" one of 
the bound volumes of manuscript, loiter 
inquiry about the MS. of " Pickwick r5 
brought the following information from 
Miss Hogarth: w . . . . The MS. of 
' Pickwick ' was never preserved in its 
entirety at all ! Stray fragments of it 
have turned up — and are dispersed 
about the world. I believe. Put it 

*~ j&**> 


w _ v£p£ — *> 

No. i. 

-Facsimile of si receipt si^r.eJ by E. Pickwick, ij.uuil Unl]i„ 
January s t l&ra* 

in size, there being also many corrections in 
all the later works, I have decided to show 
fewer specimens of the original manuscripts, 
and to include some curious and interesting 
pieces of Diekensiana, relating to Charles 
Dickens's manuscripts, which I found among 
the large quantity of material which has been 
placed at my service. 

Curious as to the present sale of Dickens's 
works T I put some questions to Mr. George 
Etheredge (of Messrs. Chapman and Hall), 
and I learnt that the yearly sales show 
no falling off as regards number. 

The facsimile in No. i is a curiosity.l . It 

, z. ']'i[Lc-|i:ii;i'of a cnHiHW American "' Pjckuick/' pub- 
Lished at PhilaJdphiii in iS;"3, cli^igJirEl tiy Sam WcMcr. 
This copy "J^prtwilfl t fi fr©1Hr r P ^y Cbwfcl Dickens ro 

John Foster in vf ,o or ii,g. 




was not given by its 
author to anyone. I don't 
think he attached much 
importance to his MSS. 
in those early days, . . . /' 
So we must go without 
this manuscript. It is, of 
course, impossible for us 
of the present generation 
to realize what a godsend 
to the people of sixty years 
ago were the light green 
monthly parts of ** Pick- 
wick/' It came out in 
heavy days, when people 
had solid mahogany side- 
hoards, weighing tons 
(more or less), and when 
the vogue of the black 
horse -hair -covered shiny 
sofa was supreme : they 
had arm-chairs, but no 
easy ones, and this re- 
mark applies to the litera- 
ture of the period as well 
as to its furniture. Thomas 
Carlyle wrote in a letter 
to a friend : " An archdeacon, with his own 
venerable lips, repeated to me the other 
night, a strange profane story of a solemn 
clergyman who had been administering 
ghostly consolation to a sick person ; having 
finished, satisfactorily as he thought, and got 
out of the room, he heard the sick person 
ejaculate: 'Well, thank God ! "Pickwick" 
will be out in ten days, any way ! ' — This is 
dreadful." The binder prepared 400 copies 
of Part I. of " Pickwick " ; and of 
Part XV., his order was for more 
than 40,000 ! In No. 3, by the 
way t is part of a pretty little note 
from Charles Dickens to John 
Forster, dated December nth, 

1837:- • 

Chapman and Hall have just sent me 
ihreo "extra mi per" hound copies of H Pick- 
wick 1 *--as ]>er specimen indole I. The first 
I for wart! to you, I he second I have pre* 
sen fed to our good friend Ains worth 
[Harrison Ainswurlh, the novelist]* and 
tin- third Kate [Mrs, Charles Dickens] has 
retained for herself* « . « 

The Philadelphia!! <£ Pickwick n 
from which Nos. 2, 4, 5, and 7 have 
been taken, was prohahly a pirated 
copy of the English book, but it con- 
tains many very interesting and clever 
illustrations, some of which are 
signed " Sam Weller," others being 
by "Alfred Crowquill " (A. H. 


No. 3,— Facsimile of a pan of Charles Dickens'* 
letter to John _ Forster, sending him the fir^t 
**e\tra super" 1*}und copy of " Pickwick. 11 
Wriltcrn December jj p 1837, 

Forrester), subsequently 
the first illustrator of 
Punch. Of those shown 
here, Nos, 2 and 7 are 
by "Sam Weller," and 
No, 4 by a Alfred Crow- 
quill/ 4 ' The title-page in 
No. 2 is a clever piece of 

In No, 4, Mr. Pick- 
wick and his friend 
Winkle are depicted in a 
condition that was more 
jocularly treated sixty years 
ag& than it is now, and 
"Sam Welter's" sketch in 
No, 7 shows the incident 
at the tea-party concerning 
old Welter's chastisement 
of the canting gentleman. 
The book which contains 
these curious pictures was 
given to John Porster by 
Dickens; and No, 5 shows 
the inscription on the fly- 
leaf* The paper of the 
book is very bad and 
porous, and the ink of this signature — now 
more than half a century old — has spread 
into the texture of the paper, and blurred 
the outlines of the writing. 

The extraordinary popularity of il Pick- 
wick n not only caused the name to be 
applied to hats, coats, confectionery, cigars, 
and hosts trf other things — even the pen I am 
writing with is called " Pickwick ,1 — but in 
the 7)f?ies of many years ago a gentleman 

From iLv 




Ay. j- — i"£iL>imile ol Charles Dickcn*'* inscription an the fly- 
leaf ol the Philadelphia " Pickwick,'* written when he 
gave this book to John Forster in 183$ or J&39* 

publicly advertised a change of name, owing 
to "Pickwick" having become so suggestive 
of comicality, Charles Henry Sainsbury 
Pickwick, Esq., of Bradford - on - Avon, 
notified to all the 

writing than were most of the later works, 
and it was also written much more freely 
and .spontaneously ; the alterations, although 
numerous, are not so thickly clustered 
all over the pages as is the case with 
most of the other manuscripts. Part I, 
of No* 6 is from Chap* xiiL, page 87 of 
printed book (the modern one shilling and 
sixpenny edition), and the words struck out 
by Charles Dickens are : retired into a 
corner and assumed a defensive attitude. 
Part II. of No. 6 shows us that Mr. Bill 
Kikes originally spelt his name with a y— 
this alteration comes on page 93 of the 
printed book. The formidable Mrs. ( nnievs 
confession of weakness, Part III., is on page 
199, and the odious Noah Claypole*s remark 

world that he 
abandoned for 
ever " his own 
family name of 
Pickwick*" It is 
hard to be laughed 
out of a surname, 
especially if that 
name be of the 
knightly origin of 
"Pickwick/' £a, 
Piquiz-vite^ Spur 
fasf 7 or, spur on- 

The reduced 
facsimiles in No* 6 
have been chosen 
from among a very 
much larger num- 
ber of facsimiles 
which I took from 
the original manu- 
script of " Oliver 
Twist," or, rather, 
from what remains 
of the original, for 
the existing MS. 
of 14 Oliver Twist" 
begins with the 
twelfth chapter, 
and ends with the 
sixth chapter of 
the third book (now 
called Chapter 
xliii,), t( Wherein 
is shown how* the 
Artful Dodger got 
into trouble," 

" Oliver Twist " 
was written in a 
much larger hand- 

j^Stc^^^ *^£a2p^ 






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dis JsL*jlJ 4l 

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No. 6- S :n> f.n Smiles from the original marm^riptul J ( '!|+f>i3l*tflD Ffthowint; Mr, Bill Slkc 

Jirst spcJi hi* manic " with a_p," and mcludji; 

iiMvm.Tm?rwf?iW : 

led I > ■ .1 -k , etc- 



No. 7. — An il Lustra dun uf th-c " Sli^ms " (c,vfi.t;lii, tl^^L^ncd by 
Sam Wttler, from the Philadelphia!! bn Pickwick." 

" If* Cittleti in* a tf*«*r? T Sammy— a tra**f af n-rath — amt all #nff* ©' 
totttl'C*. iSa my ttlrtut twinff lftfulttrfy hi>, I ftvwt pinf. hint fit*) rtl* thrr* fur 
hinun-ff f fnut th&i tun **r thru mun fa hand iH/tt- to (A« nmn vith ftte rttl 

— what a delicious iking is a oyster — is printed 
on page 202. Part V., altered from <£ that 
gentleman" to "Mr. Giles," is contained in 
Chapter xxviiL, and refers to the burglary, 
where Oliver is pushed by Bill Sikes through 
the pantry window, and is shot by Giles, the 
butler, who subsequently remarks in his 
account of the affair : " I says at first, 'this 
is a illusion. 1 " Parts VI. and VIL of 
Vq. 6 occur in Chapter xxxvii,, when the 
unhappy Bumble has dis- 
covered the real nature of 
his wife and her fighting 
quality; the sentence — is 
that the wo ice as calkd me 
a irrishtihlc duck in the 
small one-pair 1 — was struck 
out of the proof sheets, for 
it is not in the printed book 
on page 271, where it occurs 
in the MS. The words, If 
she stands such a eye as 
that, efc. y are on page 271, 
and Bumble's exclamation, 
If the paupers knew of this, 
I should he a parochial 
dye-word \ is another sen- 
tence struck out, on the 
proof-sheets, from its place 
on page 275, where Bumble 
has been signally and for 
ever defeated by his wife. 
The last specimen in No. 

6 was altered from: "Pale I" echoed the 
gir^ looking at him without the least trace of 
emotion in her features \ and the altered version 
of this sentence is on page 298, where Fagin 
is giving some money to Nancy. 

The piece of manuscript in No. 8 is part 
of the last chapter of " Oliver Twist " ? which 
exists — Chapter xliiL — and the 1 )odgers 
comic defiance of the Bench was written, as 
we see, very nearly as it rends in the printed 
book. The three insertions here facsimiled 
are ; line 3, the palm of and to the Bench ; 
line 7, to fall down on your knees and ... , 
The only erasure is the word out, line 11, 

The end of the letter shown in No. 9 
refers to the " Life of Grimaldi," the famous 
clown, which was edited by Charles Dickens, 
and published in 1838, The thirty notes of 
exclamation which follow the words, " 1,70a 
Grimaldis have been already sold, and the 
demand increases daily," are notes of 
astonishment at the rapid sale of a book 
whose contents the editor himself described 
as "twaddle. 1 Except the preface, Charles 
Dickens did not write a line of the " Life of 

The manuscript of " Nicholas Nickleby " 
is one of those which have vanished, but in 
No. 10 there is part of the revised proof of 
the Preface of " Nicholas Nickleby," which 
shows a long passage struck out by Charles 
Dickens — nearly the whole of No. 10 was 
thus cancelled. 

Here is a chance for the book-hunter who 
turns over the odd volumes on a roadside 
stall or in an outside box marked " All these 

3 ^^A stU 


L JUf£ *f it. U^ fy ^ & - ^ 

k^ft tC^ t^ ^ *ftft $Z &*4pn 
"ku U $st Sk^t, u^C U, 

Ct *j 

4*.* fit A** 

aS ^. fl, - 

rut; simile of the original mami^rn^t :■( "Olivrr T-vki,' where 
11 checks 1 the mag titrate : Chapter A'iiiu 


' the D^lg^r ' 



2d. each." The little book 
from which Nos. 1 1 and 
i 2 have been copied con- 
sists of three very rare and 
early productions of 
Charles Dickens — 
** Sketches of Young 
Couples/* "Sketches of 
Young Gentlemen/* and 
"Sunday Under Three 
Heads," The volume con- 
taining these three slight 
things, which are not now 
included among Charles 
Dickens's works, is worth, 
so my informant told me, 
about ^25. It is quite pos- 
sible that someone who 
reads these words may 
possess one or more of 
these three little pieces by 
Dickens, and if so let him 
count bis [>ossession as a 
valuable one. These 
"finds" do still happen. 
Only a few weeks ago, and within my own 
knowledge* an original copy of the first 
edition of Goldsmith's "Vicar of Wakefield" 
was included by a local auctioneer among a 
miscellaneous and rubbishy "lot" of other 
books, which sold— to his amazement — not 

////// TV ( 
/ / / / 7 / / / / 

V / / / V ft ' i 

No. p. — Facsimile o( pun of an early letter written 
by Charles Dickons to John Fonster. announc- 
ing the quick sale of tn** u Life of (mntaldi " 
(ihe famous down), which was edited by 
Dickens, and published in 1&3S, 

for the three or four 
shillings expected by the 
auctioneer, but for ^43 ! 
So be on the look-out for 
the little volume contain- 
ing the originals of Nos. 
1 1 and 12. 

We have all read in 
"David Copperfield" of 
Charles ])ickens*s own 
difficulties when he was 
learning shorthand, and in 
No. 13 there is a "copy" 
in shorthand, written by 
Dickens, of a letter that 
he sent to Mr, Bentley, 
his publisher, on July 14th, 
1 837 — nearly sixty years 
ago. Application to experts 
in modern shorthand failed 
to obtain a solution of 
No* 13, but ultimately I 
ascertained that this in- 
teresting specimen of 

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Allure, fcftd llnir ynVwJvJed h^rwr&lfosfi, irv bo crtiHuin flf ill* 
A'jtboj'i br*ia i bill *'l- prMptiag f«vj i*J l»»4 *ft*o*M hj 

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ra*tv «nd thvxt !■■ m lin, — 

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1 1 r,-! ■-->*' I *■ - ihtn tbll ..■ m*j «ht 

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rt jfW «! hi*, raiders 
■riur Qifcwf mifli 

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■f|«UfC It* "In* bin fofLutf-ed lt« 
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■ft itk* wbmh L ihc *mM> flf eow] 
■tid ilt-cr»d mo**" kp ci|prw*kifl «bkJh 
L* brul kL do*-!. JJg[ tti* pcrioJk'kl 
rmmJfitm thm tt*1\f*p rf lb* J*I. ID lb* 
FcL-J.n^i. livwc fnjmpu-i. A.I bt ku d 
frwJ.i.m rf lotiiali'j ibd, eIi-b. CbrdUJiEj i 

B»iiu-kUv khA f*k the iHJidgnc« «Lj«b 

cI*.wh ; «rhl wheal It* buU bit rudtn 

M fMt lll4 r+fjir^p. of in ftf^utiitoiirf, uhl 


1 ailifj 

?'* ru[-j, nf beeping 

■ WLtbdrawtL nianj 

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tbo blUTJ of wnUqg 

Ljiil wwcnitH lo bLf 

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lUKJJ * -'■ tli 

ldilupt b« »iU 

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WllJi tail fmbelft »n*J fuch hefti (Lc p^riWiA CMijiit, (Ik 

No. io.— Focsimile of part of the proof uf iIlc Preface of 
JJ Nicholiis NicVlubj',"' struck om by Charles I ■ i ■.-*■: i - 1 - 
when revising thti pruof- sheets* 
Vd. K i.-5. 



. 11. -One of the illustrations m ll SL*.-lJ.:lii.'i ■■■{ 'N -in ^ 
Couples "— The tVu//<? lt'A& D&te Ufom their Children* 
This book, now very rare t was written by Charles Dickens 
in 183S-39. 

Charles Dickens 1 ** shorthand was written by 
C turner's method, and Messrs, Gurney find 
Sons, shorthand writers, of No, 26, Abiirjdcn 
Original from 




No. 12. — One of the illustrations in another very rare 
and valuable book written by Charles Dickens in 1838 : 
"Sketches of Young Gentlemen." This sketch, by 
"Phiz," represents some "Out -and -Out Young 
Gentlemen " of fifty-five to sixty years ago. 

Street, Westminster, have very kindly sent 
me the following translation of the fac- 
simile in No. 13, whose meaning has 
hitherto been hidden by the shorthand : — 

MyDear Sir, — I did intend writing to say that through 
the kindness of a friend, who posts to Brighton and back 
next Sunday, I could see you for two hours on that day. 
I am so terribly behindhand, however, that I am com- 
pelled to give up all thoughts of leaving town this month, 
even for a day. As I snail not see you then until you 
return to town, I state in this short letter the alterations I 
propose in our Agreement, with the view of facilitating the 
dispatch of business when we meet. 

First, that you should give me Z600 for permission to 
publish jqo copies of my first novel, " B. R., this number 
to be divided into as many editions as you think well, and 
the whole of the manuscript to be furnished by the xst 
March, 1838, at the latest. 

- Second, that for permission to publish the same number 
of copies of my second novel, " O.T.," you should give me 
£joo, deducting from that amount all you may have been 
made to pay for the appearance of the different portions 
of it in tnc Miscellany up to the time of my finishing the 
whole manuscript, wnicn I promise, at the very latest, 
shall be Midsummer next. 

I have considered the subject very carefully, and this is 
the fixed conclusion at which I have arrived. I am sure 
it is a fair and very reasonable one, but if you are resolved 
to think differently, of course you have the power to hold 
me to the old agreement. However, if you hold me to the 
strict letter of the agreement respecting the novels, I shall 
abide by the strict letter of my agreement respecting the 
Miscellany, and arrange my future plans with reference to 
it accordingly. 

Messrs. Gurney and Sons, not know- 
ing certainly who wrote No. 13, told 
me : " Although evidently written by an 
expert, there are a few idiosyncrasies in the 

shorthand. It does not strictly follow the 
Gurney system." The mention — in this unique 
specimen of Charles Dickens's skill as a 
shorthand wTiter — of " my first novel, 
'B. R.,' " referred to " Barnaby Rudge," the 
subject and title of which were selected in 
1837, but which was not published until four 
years later. The mention of " my second 
novel, 4 0. T.,' " meant " Oliver Twist." 

During my examination of the most 
interesting lot of matter that it has ever been 
my good fortune to handle — not excepting 
even Carlyle's school-books, see The Strand 
Magazine for October, 1894 — I found 
several jottings by Charles Dickens about the 
outlines of his works. For example, No. 14 
is a facsimile of one of these memoranda 
which relates to " The Old Curiosity Shop." 

Here, then, is the slender thing upon 
which Dickens built up " The Old Curiosity 
Shop " : one is reminded of a curious dream 
— common, I believe, to many people — 
where one sees a tiny speck in space, and as 
one gazes at the speck, it suddenly grows 
and grows to a vast mass, extending itself in 
every direction, until the dreamer is well-nigh 

V jC, . .4,. «|l hJ- *7 4. *• ->| 


;«? *>«*-». */• Jy-i;- z 

It, v./7.> V/^/V 

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by Google 

No. ij. — Facsimile of a shorthand copy — all written by Charles 
Dickens — of a letter he sent to Mr. Ben lie y (one of his pub- 
lishers) on July 14, 1837. 

Original from 




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about the death of " Grip," the Raven which 
figures so prominently in " Barnaby Rudge." 
The pen-and-ink. sketch, signed "D. M.,"that 
forms part of No. 15, was drawn by Maclise, to 
picture the apotheosis of the raven — shown, 
stiff and stark, at the bottom of the sketch, and 
thence arising in more ethereal shape to receive 

^^^C &4&A/lfe*V 






No. 1 4.— Facsimile of part of Charles Dickens's manuscript 
notes re the plot of " The Old Curiosity Shop." 

overwhelmed and awed by this sudden ex- 
tension and great volume of the tiny speck 
he first saw. A trick of the brain, probably, 
but which serves to 
illustrate the inten- 
tioned growth in 
Charles Dickens's 
brain of "The Old 
Curiosity Shop " out 
of the "speck " shown 
in No. 14. 

Several facsimiles 
of the manuscript of 
"Barnaby Rudge" 
were prepared for 
this account of 
Charles Dickens's 
manuscripts, but the 
writing was so small 
and the corrections so 
numerous that space- 
limits have caused 
these facsimiles to be 
omitted, because in 
reduced size they were 
not satisfactory. But, 
in No. 15, there is the 
famous letter written 
by Daniel Maclise, 
RA., to John Forster, 
at Charles Dickens's 
request, telling Forster 

No. 15. — Facsimile of the letter — which also contains a sketch of 
11 the apotheosis of the raven " — written and drawn in 1841 by 
Daniel Maclise, the Royal Academician, at Charles Dickens's 
request, to acquaint John Forster with the death of " Grip," 
the raven which plays a prominent part in " Barnaby Rudge. " 

No. 16. —Facsimile of some of Charles Dickens's manuscript 
notes re the name of his hero for " Martin Chuzzlewit." 

the welcome of the three angel-birds awaiting 
him above. At the sale of his property, 
which, by Charles Dickens's directions, took 
place " within a month of death " (June 9th, 
1870), this raven, stuffed and in a shabby 
case, was sold at Christie and Manson's for 
120 guineas. The picture of Dolly Varden, 

the blacksmith's 
pretty daughter, 
painted by Frith, and 
sold to Dickens for 
^20 in the year 1843, 
fetched at the sale in 
1870 no less a sum 
than 1,000 guineas. 

Some of Dickens's 
attempts to fix the 
name of his hero in 
" Martin Chuzzlewit " 
are shown in No. 16. 
In none of these five 
attempts — - "Martin 
Chuzzlewig," " Martin 
Sweezleden,"" Martin 
Chuzzletoe," "Martin 
" Martin Sweezlewag" 
— was the name hit 
upon, although some 
of these run close to 
the name finally 
chosen. A rather in- 
teresting question 
arises in connection 
with these names, 
which now seem in- 

by Google 




ferior to " Martin Chuzzle- 
wit" : would Tiabit, and the 
association of a name with 
a clever book, have rendered 
44 Martin Sweezlewag," for 
example, as acceptable to 
us now as " Martin Chuz- 
zlewit" is? Certainly, 
when we first hear the 
name, " Sweezlewag," it 
sounds an altogether im- 
possible name to be used. 
And so, indeed, with most 
of the others shown in No. 
16; but perhaps " Chuzzle- 
wit " would have now 
sounded equally impos- 
sible, if long association 
with the book had not 
made it so familiar to us. 
However, these attempts 
were all rejected by Charles 
Dickens himself, so per- 
haps they really are intrin- 
sically bad names. 

The curious title-page facsimile in No. 17, 
all written by Charles Dickens, is a very 
good specimen of his care in setting out his 
titles. This whimsical title-page was, I 
believe, written seriously, although it was 
not used for the book. 

No. 18 shows a part of the corrected 
proof of page 27 [in the third chapter of 
Vol. L] with Charles Dickens's alterations 
scattered about the page. The name Peck- 
sniff, that quintessence of 
odious hypocrisy, is here 
written in twice by Dickens. 
Is there anyone, I wonder, 
who, reading about this 
wretch, has not, over and over 
again, longed to get at him 
and beat him and expose 
him ? Even now, although I 
know what's coming, I always 
wait and gloat awhile when I 
get to Chapter xxvii. of the 
second volume, where, at last, 
Pecksniff is exposed and 
beaten. We, as a nation, are 
sometimes credited with hy- 
pocrisy as our national vice ; 
but, perhaps, we are not so far 
gone in this direction as our 
detractors say, for the detes- 
tation of Pecksniff mayalmost 
be termed a national detesta- 
tion. Could anything be more 
odious — and yet it can be 

Digitized by V_ 


Lifts ClAlfit 

***** lu*h%*uJi U€AdA 

hCcatML, «*, fn A. fJ*A 4/**w£ 

No. 17. — Facsimile of one of the title -pages 
written by Charles Dickens for 

" Man 

matched in real life — than 
Pecksniff's false friendship 
to Tom Pinch, where, for 
example, he says, over the 
currant wine and captain 
biscuits, " if you spare the 
bottle, we shall quarrel " ? 
That Pecksniffs do exist 
cannot, unhappily, be 
doubted. The gentleman 
to whose courtesy I am 
indebted for this very illus- 
tration, No. 18, told me 
that a certain lecturer has 
earned the nickname of 
Pecksniff ; and even to-day 
Pecksniffs may be found 
in the ranks of " profes- 
sional "men and elsewhere, 
although, happily, the days 
are fast disappearing when 
pomposity plus ignorance 
can pose as the equal of 
simplicity plus knowledge. 

One hates the pomposity 
of the hypocritePecksniff as much as the false 
'umbleness of the hypocrite Heep. It has 
been truly said that comic art has never 
more successfully fulfilled its highest task after 
its truest fashion than in this picture of the 
rise and fall of a creature who never ceases 
to be laughable, and yet never ceases to be 
loathsome. But " Martin Chuzzlewit " is a 
work of genius, produced at or near the high- 
water mark of its author's power. As 



it hi*JEf *• opened ; And r\ 
—dQpK ioqwt iroesj awt 2PJ 


objection the young lady urged to Mr*. Lupin went bo fori her. fur 
nothing luore was said to hwa, and k* *a»d nothing more to anybody else- 

Full h.ilf an hour elapsed before the old man stirred, but at length be 
turned lurueclf in bed, and, though not yet awake, gave tokens that his 
tlvrp w«s daanay drawing to an end. By little and little he removed 
the bed-clothes from about his headend turned still more toward* the 
side wheru Mr. Pec k»uiff sat. In course of time hisevei opened; 
he lay for a few moment* as people newly row " ' 

paling indolently at ln» visitor, without any dirtnetJefmsctousnees~crf hi 
presence^ — — - 

I here was nothing remarkable in these proceedings. except the 
influence tlicy worked on Mr. Pecksniff; which could hardly hate teen 
surpassed By the tuoit nnrnllous o( natural phenomena. Gradually 
hi* hands became tightly clasped upon the elbows of the chair, his eyes 
dilated with surprise, his mouth opened*. Ins hair stood more erect upon 
hi» forehead than it* custom was, until, at length, when the t'.l man rose 
in bed, and stared at him with scarcely let* emotion than he showed 
himself, the Pecksniff doubts wcre'all resolved, and he exclaimed aloud 

" Yon art Martin Cluuzlewit !" 

Hit cuoaternauon of surprise was so genuine, thai the old man, with 
all the disposition that he clearly entertained to believe it assumed, was 
convinced of its reality. 

** 1 #m Martin Cboaalewit," he said, bitterly f "and Martin Cbuixle- 

ton had been hanged, before you had come hero to disturb 

. •Why, I dreamed of this fellow !' he said, lying 

turning away^hie face, •« before I knew that he wai 

>g htajrrcy 

" I #m Martin t 

f| wit wishes ton ha 

wt him in Ins sleep. 

I down agafli, and 

near me ! ** 


•• My good cousin — " said Mr. PecksnifL 

•• I We ! His very first words I " cried the old man ehabi 




18. — Facsimile of a piece of the revised proof of " Martin Chuz/Iewit,** 
alterations made by Charles Dkkcns. 
■_■ l I L| 1 1 1 '.1 1 1 1 '_• 1 1 1 






* • 

No. 19.— Facsimile of Charles Dickens's manuscript "Sketch ot' 
Dombey " : showing, among other things, that Paul Bom- 
bey was to be " born to die. 

concerns its reality, even the grotesque Mrs. 
Gamp has been traced to an original in real 
life, and this character of Dickens's has 
actually been the death of her injurious sister- 
hood in our hospital wards and sick rooms. 
Even her extraordinary utterances are merely 
an emphasized version of the fatuous 
verbosity of charwomen, laundresses, and 
inferior housekeepers of to-day. An old 
woman who at one time kept my rooms dirty 
for me was a true Mrs. Gamp in her oddities 
of speech and mental grotesqueness. R.I. P. 
Hostile critics have picked holes in 
" Dombey and Son," and some of them 
have said it was bad art to bring in little 
Paul Dombey and then 
However this may be, it 
find, by reading No. 19 — 
Dickens's sketch of the 
plot of " Dombey "—that 
Paul was intended to die. 
Read it; — 

make him die. 
is interesting to 

Sketch of Dombey. — Mother 
confined with long - expected 
boy. Boy born to die. Neglected 
girl, Florence — a child. 

Mrs. Chick — common-minded 
family humbug. 

Wet Nurse— Polly Toodle. 

Toodle, a stoker. 

Lots of children. 

Wooden Midshipman. 

Uncle — adventurous nephew 
— Captain Cuttle. 

But we are not here to 
discuss the critic's opinions 
of these works, we are only 
peeping behind the scenes 
of their production — a 
much more pleasant occu- 
pation. Nor will we attempt 


%U&fj 4^ ' 4L ZjU^ 

+v&nj&u and f Sfc 

No. 20.— Facsimile of Charles Dickens's title-page 
for " Dombey and Son." 

by L^OOgle 

to compare Dickens and Thackeray — not 
even after the fashion of the after-dinner 
orator who delivered himself thus : — 

It's in the wonderful insight inter 'uman nature that 
Dickens gets the pull over Thackeray ; but on t'other 
hand, it's in the brilliant shafts o' satire, t'gether with 
a keen sense o' humour, that Dickery gets the pull 
over Thackens. It's just this : Thickey is the 
humorist ; . Dackens is the satirist. But, after all, 
it's 'bsurd toinstoot any comparison between Dackery 
and Thickens, 

In No. 20 there is the original title-page of 
"Dombey," written with much neatness by 
Charles Dickens himself. A simple test of 
the general admiration for and pleasure in 
reading " Dombey and Son " may be applied 
by asking oneself: "Do I wish that the 
book was unknown to me,- so that I might 
read it as a new book ? " A pretty general 
chorus of " Yes's " goes up, and I find the 
"Ayes " have it without proceeding to a 

With reference to hostile criticisms of 
Charles Dickens's works, it is interesting to 
recall some words spoken by Mr. Pinero at 
the Royal Academy dinner on the evening 
of May 4th, 1895, in connection with the 
opinion held in some- quarters that popular 
success is not always thought to be quite 
creditable. Mr. Pinero said : — 

Not very long ago I met at an exhibition of pictures 
a friend whose business it is to comment in the public 
journals upon painting and the drama. The exhi- 
bition was composed of the works of two artists, and 
I found myself in one room praising the pictures 
of the man who was exhibiting in the other. My 
friend promptly took me to task. "Surely," he 
said, "surely you notice that two- thirds of the works 
in the next room are already sold?" I admitted 
having observed that many of the pictures were so 
ticketed. My friend shrugged 
his shoulders. " But," said I, 
anxiously, "do you really re- 
gard that circumstance as re- 
flecting disparagingly upon the 
man's work in the next room?" 
The reply was, " Good work 

rarely sells." I shall 

simply beg leave to acknowledge 
freely, to acknowledge without 
a blush, that what is known as 
popular success is, I lielieve, 
eagerly coveted, sternly sought 
for, by even the most earnest of 
those writers who deal in the 
commodity labelled modern 
British drama. And I would, 
moreover, submit that of all the 
affectations displayed by artists 
of any craft, the affectation of 
despising the approval and sup- 
port of the great public is the 
most mischievous and mis- 
leading. Speaking , . . of 
dramatic art, I believe that its 
most substantial claim upon 
consideration rests in its power 

Ml I I '.' I 1 1 




%*jj ^ui^: 



'—. »*— 1«~ 

- a.u 




No. 21. — Facsimile of one of the numerous titles written by 
Charles Dickens for " David Copperfield," with his jottings 
re the names of his characters, which include "Copper- 
stone " for "Copperfield," etc. 

of legitimately interesting a great number of people. 
I believe this of any art. , . 

I have been tempted to quote this rather 
lengthy passage from Mr. Pinero's speech, 
because I think it admirably sums up the 
case in point about Charles Dickens's work 
and his detractors. 

We come now to ** David Copperfield," the 
masterpiece of Charles Dickens, who, until 
the fact was pointed out to him, had not 
noticed that in this — the most personal to 
himself of all his works — the initials of 
Charles Dickens had merely been transposed 
to give those of his hero. Charles Dickens 
never alluded to the miseries and the torture 
of his early life except in the pages of 
" David Copperfield," and when in after life 
he returned to its perusal, he was hardly able 
to master the emotions which the book re- 

In No. 21 is one of the many titles written 
for this work — I counted fifteen in manu- 
script, and there may have been others. The 
title in No. 21 is : — 

" Mag's Diversions," being the personal history 
(experience and observation) of Mr. David Mag, the 
younger, of Blunderstone (Copperfield) House. And 
in short, it led to the very " Mag's Diversions." And 
in short, they all played *' Mag's Diversions." Old 

And jotted on this draft of title are 
suggested names and variations on the name 
of the hero — " Copperboy," "Copperstone," 
as well as some quite different names for the 

by Google 

hero, such as " Wellbury," " Flowerbury," 
11 Magbury," "Topflower." 

Two of the other titles, for which there is 
not space in facsimile, are : — 

The last will and testament of David Copperfield 
the younger, of Blunderstone House, who was never 
executed at the Old Bailey. Being his personal 
history, adventures, and worldly experience. 


The last will and testament of David Copperfield 
the younger. Being his personal history, which he 
left as a legacy. 

It is not practicable to show here some of 
the original manuscript of " David Copper- 
field," for the writing is very small and so 
cannot be reduced hi size, while nearly every 
page is covered With corrections and altera- 
tions, the ink of which, by spreading into the 
paper, has caused much of the writing to be 
indistinct. But even better, than the manu- 
script are the corrected proofs seen in 
Nos. 22 and 23, which contain very interest- 
ing alterations made by Charles Dickens 
himself. In No. 22, Steerforth's remark to 
Copperfield, parodying the eccentricities of 
Miss Moucher's speech — "a question of 
gammon and spinnach," with a superfluous 
n in the last word — has been struck out, 
and there are many smaller alterations 



m« or 1I1 


•' rm< 

Iwtnl/aai ' 

MJIWwatU engaged 
p.- ili« old rdaew *>•*< 
the menavbik 
moment, « k* 

" mm] f. felting * ont ©/ ■* pocket. 
Ht m 'I Hu ' — i fc li i l Mi l -^ ,»M 


*' Wfcj k. of eowrar. %o* b»»e done' 

TMt riw«*«- ttmnmt *nc» exret 
httir t.«e nhtklM con r era* ion. Stmfi *hb«i»* «•»*«, 

• ondenng. 

•imJ wUl •€* c**n| s rnigni napptn t» 

Al kngtb 8t#erfo*iJi 

Yd urn by tbt •«*■ 
ok*, l»a»id. Wkal 

■bout the k-ttrr 7- 

.1* %r3£S ' ■*? stdWorfv : £& r "flfci 

to look about me, ud to tbiik c Utile ' 

» tell 

thin mjrvcJf «K» 

xrc tpeafcint, at *f 

» yl ww *ul.- [ft 

I Tune "Zk 04 tb* 



jewl J« 
to tin- fr 

1 UugAed, aod replied tU*t I «a* so win skit pn/i 
proaprct wbick «u perbapa to be attnta'"! 
"Hbj «W» aunt mm* on tbe subject?" 
rr *a my band " L>oet %be incest 

I "SbraAa me, bm. if ! thm 

Intel U n in Uk d-».u a tfu 
MLita MoAlwr vou'il vn." 
rt of fcttX I dmi'l *rc 
•bnll take Mil my n\?n *<:>• 
inducrmrnB and you »nall 

likrili^irlni ail! '-»■ 

r-limiv, in 
ill vpnr.i 
Lit lmifl ri 

prortof. Ktfcrforlk » " **h1 
b*\» aoryrf *(co«kt*l. :.»torne\. rqJ.H i.^rfortb 
';d rouiU Vld 10 Doctor. I'ouimom— i >4> old nook 
-ehytrd— vHit wltcitora arc la lb* cow _ 
,,0 **7 *ko^ rutteuct, in Ike natural con « 
led abovi 

of b« and "|" 'J 


Veil yo.. lie* •k* 

m . . . —, — .—^. .. ,, t Ulik otil^tL- •' 

li F -bl!il2 i |lS i i ^kbWct. old , of ^t. of Pari 

jndird yimn aro 

"* Job »Kai Dortora" Cmiaooa i 

flke^qi^t^ow nothing 

be tmtk, I •» 
•*«XbJ•l^». , * 

I caa'i aay I bave/|Mnic«kr1jf. 1 
ad forgotten it " * 
look about you now. nod mak< up for yo r " 
" I/aok lo Ibe rtajtil. and >ou 'It *e« a at country. «n»* * 
of rnnrab in it . look to tb* left, andynn *|l r» ibe u<*« LuA 
at, and >ou li And uo diflcrroccf look to ifr re«r. and tHe-a i 

■ mn in tn« «W. 
irvriorth. j:Lik«i 
I t bouldl>lpi:W 

rtMxi of An toon and i|ij>>i^*J 
he r<turnV< " A prorto' a 4 
an* o>.jr,-t\ i to )oui Ui«( a 

I c»cr want oneJ 
wife an J tie rt*\ 

Mr ^ 

of S< 

rt. aivl ibfai^ 

No. 22. — Facsimile of another page of *• David Copperfield 
revised by Charles Dickens. 

[The two black vertiad Unei repreient tbe pieces of silk cord that were 
used to tie back tbe leaves when this facsimile was taken.] 




**!««. * < * *_" # L ■ «*■* i ******* ***J'^ !i7 

-l s*j** ri^-iM «j 

uJUT^.T.^ ™ 1 *™J *■* — —to* 

WW4 I ■■* m^^ i U«.,i ._ u i. — ■ — — ii — __ 

; ;?J 

iJTli£2V ■"•!■■- ■■■ ■■•■ ■ - -■ • , av'^ 

n_ ^**! *™ *4* Ektwj T«4«*k| ««.u l*. . m*J m * hal »W 

"so the books say, but I don't see how that can 
be, because if it was so long ago t how could the 
people altout him have made that mistake of 
putting some of the trouble out of Ah head, after 
it was taken off, into niin£? 1J 

This alteration, like many others, has 
become so faint by the lapse of tinie s that 
it is feared much of Charles Dickens's 
original manuscript will ultimately become 
illegible owing to fading of the ink and 
to its corrosion of the pa per T some of 
which is already very fragile and needs 
most careful handling* For this reason, 
pressure could not be applied to the 
bound volumes of manuscript and of cor- 
rected proofs, in order to press quite flat 
the bulky masses of leaves which, as in 
No. 23, were left to take the natural 
curve in which the volume opened, A 
small part of the alterations in No. 23 is 
hidden, because the margin at the left of 
the page is not wide enough to fully ex- 
pose all the writing, except under pressure 
that would have been injurious to the 

No. 24 shows a facsimile of an interest- 
ing page of "Great Expectations/ cor- 
rected by its author — see Chapter iii. of 
the printed book, where " Pip " takes 
food and brandy to the escaped convict, 

Hot 23- — Facsimile of the page of u David Copper- 
red" where — during his peviiioa of the p™f- 
sheets — Ch&rlts Dickens put into Mr. Dick'i 
imagination tils fantastic notion about " King 
CWIes tbe Firsts faMd," in place of Mr. Dick's 
original hallucination about il the bull in the china 

which show the extraordinary care that 
Dickens bestowed upon " his favourite 
child " when correcting the proof-sheets, 
notwithstanding the fact that the origi- 
nal manuscript was altered and touched 
up to an extent that would have made 
the writing almost indecipherable, but 
for Charles Dickens's extreme care when 
making alterations in his manuscript. 
No. 23 shows that the famous passage 
about King Charles the First's head was 
put into Mr, Dick's crazy brain during 
the revision of the proofs, and the 
passage written in at the bottom of No. 
23, and which was to be inserted at line 
g of this facsimile, where " that bull got 
into the china warehouse, and did so 
much mischief?" is struck out — 
reads : — 

***..♦ King Charles the First had his 
head cut off?*' 

"I said I believed it happened in the jear 
sixteen hundred and forty- nine. J ' 

"Well." returned Mr, Dick, scratching his 
ear with his \KT\ t and looking dubiously at nriCj 

Digitized by GOOQ 



M^ '™*i. ^. "■« 


w>icn 1 Undcdluin the fife lt on^j ^ 
wrmid te* c tned T got it, if ac M iurt *tc fl mt 
koto He did iwi lum ^ nmvlt tW this 
tbe. Id pUI vbai I bid, fa«L kfl m* r \&i lidt 
Upwards wluk 1 QpeacJ lUe bundle ud emati«J 

" What 1 * in tLe boltJ*, fecj ?" utt be. 

He *ii already fcindinj- Twn«fflc«t do*a bis 

lirtit jii^h meat — 7_ui_n,r.:jL like a 

*4i palttngjtJTTjf t&meTfaeffi m ■ * 10- 
^/yjarf-ffiAii who *u»tin^ il— but ht 

tOliic stifliB a( iht lir^uMr | JwHi| |U 

^_ l*e wkJ« id rioLtn'. Iv, rib si n m qviKe m mur* 

■* he onld **p I0W1 tfw nrck of ij>c boLLe 

bftireea hi* icrLf/ — ■ . — , ^ 

■ 1 tbink ray ^Afc got the ■bbe," mid 1. 
" I'm much of *i.u r op4AK>Ei 1 Wf," *4id Le. 
II'b fajid irbouf brrturilWie 

C- / tirtit jni^ i 

/ man » Lo wis p 

/ ledt harry p ttu 

/ It ft ^off ttfSU 

out 4a the mc^beL,, and Ibej-'fc dread/ib ftgxush. 
s Jfthaa malnc. too." 

^;w "T2 'Jl'il at my brtftkU *fortJiW*lh# death 

*' /^f»» p "iiidhc J "rddaibmtfnr-aijfoi^^ 

/ /b* straaj tip to that Itcrc k*Uovi « there » 
/ , di^i Lhen, dirccilj irtcnrird*, VU beat tba 
•ajrers so tu h l'[l ]\h you jjiiBi." 

He »*? pohblutif mjuortK*^ »caf| bone, 
bi'e»4 ebcese, untl pert pic^ll at m« : tEarim- 
diitrnatfollj irhjlc be did *b *t tbe mist all 
^tt*d na, lad ofLcii *top|niw-<«[iMap|*rni: hi» 
*iw> — to Lulcn. Snmc real « fuK'Bfl »nta» 
some ctiat upon Uk rifer Or breathing of bcatt 
upon iho marsh, now girc bim i afcu*» *ad ^ 
Jaid, seddrrJj r 

fc You're noi i U» unp ? Too bnrcgbt so 
ov with tto'" 

"Nc^i! Ko! rt 

* Nor kit^ ac one tbe office to foaw p& f 

* ■ WcU,* nid K IH I bc4ifra ^il I^l d bs 
bot 4 fierw yoiuig boaul usdotxt »f «* J«f t*"* 
of life joii couJdb€lp (o tiuflt i*rticbcd *amin^ 
boated u dch ^eaib aod duifbiU u Lbia pooc 
vTctcbfid warmbjt la ,H 





No. 14. 



c of part of a najfc i*f Lb tireiit Kjcpectaiioiibj " showing 

larles Dickens s a 1 Ligations in tbe proof. 




- Enough '" beUn«e4)fr- Huifrjrtliiiiiitur, ihih % edenmitj ami 

te^cnty that wiitjM bav* brought th* Imiibu do*ti at a rusting. < 

rolauKri fro<n a im*t which I ra\Mwt rorjLitap!*'. witkimt * thrill 
of li&rrur. Ujftns ars tha fi^unti which yi>a h*»* undertaken to 
™P l »» their hvh*ir.Mul ihtr* i* * liatauiapt »f tbfe balan« 
wblth you h*** uu l^^u to wcit*. t&.l which you otfioat 
twwTo b» boq. And let aw 1*1J to«, .ir.t^t I wigl. that «« * 
luui tad a Minor P*m>», yon w«w butter vmptayul. H wi(Jj « 
" Better DiDpioyivj." with rtiiulhcr ikmL, - B*t— t*r cm —play 

with. ft?n.ithi*t and Ulir tL^. hr.u ml.!.*,! up — 

1m- i*ot\ W with perfect) 


. thai U ft C J 
it* * nod, 1 
-ployadr 4 / 

uiijiiPkLi ruK: .( 

and irf hiiim't* 
r, Huttcr thunder/' 
luik^ better Or 11 

ClAlttr i/Tiukl fcliij ttpici 

JU tnAuUiip£ wvaelf * mn 

J| AV- induoA. »ir'" 

nmd il » threatening nun 

it yi'w\ai\ Juiiq that ]*'U£ 

"1 tit uk nttm ■ 1m." 

"Or,"! «] llr. Jlnniy 

nti^Lit tliak i*m$ v f yum 
\ hinutdf r\ tbc di««wcr\- n 

Hliiy 1, L iimli Hi k. 

' • - 1 ! ■ J 

■iJ. Ukut£ ij|. tho t^l\n rt-fnrrai to I 
'■ri,].li.ivoii tlmiL 1 *tu *t |»r^ tit ii J 
You iiai^ii' think ma f etuj-ilayad 

i.t vimr ijpeaety."* 

ii Sir. HoTJ*ytburidt!r\ (dinting bi* 
'It would have boon slut for von 


iir, rthalkinjf ha* hi L ail\ap*tn. - 1 
ttwiun Lctl#r ciu]Htirytil \ At-wiing 
jaiidlikLLMit of {fuilt iJujj in tiiviriff 




" 1 may rii^mnl niv |'i. h+LMnm ft. mi,* |jtunt of view which [uoche* 
me that it* Ant July \m Ui-**rdji tbw*.- «1r- mi- nj tu«w*«ity and 
tribulation, it bo arc disiuUto md v pnn*tt*i* Mid «t. rrujirkla. 
H Hvwcrtr.iw J hare <t<j it* clearly ouiiafird mymli that it t* no part 
oJT mv prvri4*it>n tn mak« proiWimia, J my na mans of that. 
But I owe it to Mr. NptilK, wd io Mr. Ktwtlln'l miitUit (and ID * 
much law*r degree tu jiaawwjlf), to mv to yau that I Jhuv I pu in, 
the full pftwmjoti and undc-rvtanding of Mr. Kevilla i mind 
and Tlttui at tho Lime iff thia rivcarrx-iM^ . and that, wLtbcml id lha 
'■tat ci>i>.»rLu^ ur oonooali'DK whut whu !■> be rVplrrtd in him arid 

inirikl t<» lw n>rrocti-id, I ].'i^| riTtin. IhiF lii» f-h; »« true. 

No. as. — Facsimile of part of the proof of " Edwin Drood,™ showing a 
passage struck out by Charles Dickens, and minor alterations* 

i t lo M r. Da 1 1 as, S ho rt 1 )- aft e r Charles I >i ck e ns 
died Mr. Dallas sold the manuscript, and it 
wn&tjoughf l*y Mr, Gcorgu W. Chi his, of Phila- 
delphia, for a large sum. Mr, Chikls is dead, 
and, presumably, his widtnv now jxtssfsses this 
manuscript Some of the American pajien; 
saitl that it had l>een /<?/</ |sy Charles Dickons 
to ^^^, Dallasj and afterwards re-sold by him. 
When this false statement reached Charles 
Dickens's executrix, thai lady asked Mr. Child* 
to contradict the statement in America, and 
this was at once dime, "As for Charles 
Dickens to have sold any manuscript of his 
own," wrote Miss Hogarth to rne, tA this was 
simply an impossibility/ 1 

Last, here is the desk used by 
Charles Dickens on the day before 
his death, when at work upon " Ed- 
win Drood." It is a plain slab of 
dark mahogany with a well-worn lea- 
ther pad let in, There nre two silver 
plates fastened to it, one inside and 
underneath the writing slab, which 
savs : — 

who subsequently becomes " Pip's" unknown 

The piece of " Edwin Drood n shown 
in No. 25 occurs in Chapter xvii, A 
peculiarity about the considerable passnge 
here seen to have been struck out by Charles 
Dickens, is that during a later revision the 
whole of this passage was re-inserted, and it 
is printed in the copies of "Edwin Drood" 
which are sold to-day. 

This specimen from Charles Dickens's last 
work completes the series over which we have 
been briefly glancing, and which* for one 
reason or another, cannot include examples 
from every hook that Dickens wrote- Some 
of the manuscripts do not exist, and others 
are not in this country. With reference to 
"Our Mutual Friend,'* [ have tin: recent and 
direct authority of Charles Dickens's executrix 
to make this statement :-— 

The manuscript of u Our Mutual Kriend '' was given 
by Charles Dickens to Mr. Dallas (the husband of 
Miss Glyn ff the well-known actress), Mr, Dallas, at 
the lime * E Our Mutual Friend* 1 was published, was 
a writer in the Tittus^ and he wrote a very sympathetic 
and pleasant review of the lxx>k in the Times y which 
pleased Charles Dickens, who very seldom read re- 
views. When the manuscript was bound up, he gave 

This desk t which belonged to Charles 
Dickens, and was used by him on ihe clay 
before bis death, was one of the fcmiilhr objects ,4 of 
his study * f which were ordered by his will to U> 
distributed amongst tl those who loved hinij*' and 
was accordingly given by his executrix to Edmund 

The other plate, which can he seen at thf^ 
head of the slab, bears the inscription :-- 

This desk belonged for many years to Charles 
Dickens, and was last used by him a few hours 
before he died, on June 91 h, 1870. His executrix 
afterwards gave it (o Edmund Vales, at wdiose death 
it was sold by public auction an January 2ist t 1S95, 
and I sought by S, H, Ban croft, who presented it to 
ihe South Kensington Museum, 

The Times, January 22, 1895, contained 
the following notice :— 

Sale of the Late Mr. Edmund Vales's Library. 
[Charles Dickens's desk.]— This was put up at 50 
guineas, and, after brisk bidding, some of it on 
American account, was knocked down at ^£105 lo 
Mr* Bancroft amidst cheers. 

The wood of this desk is still marked with 
the many drops of ink that, too eayer to be 
fashioned by the cunning brain and deft 
hand of a master-craftsman, fell in their haste 
and became dull stains on this bit of ma- 
hogany — leaving their less eager fellows to 
meet the better fate that chance denied to 

Nft 36* — A photograph of Charles Dickens's mahogany writing slah, or desk, last used by 
hifn at Gad's Hill on the day before hte death on June 9, 1B70. 

Original from 

by Google 

By Mrs, Edith E. Cuthell. 

HAT a thing it is to have 
married a mighty hunter ! I 
ought to have known that the 
moment Jim set eyes on the 
flying horns of that vanishing 
herd of black-buck, he would 
be pining to be after them ! 

We were having such a delightful ride, in 
the cool of the morning — the first morning 
after our marriage ! The air was crisp, the 
sun yet low over the eastern hills, the world 
still fresh and fair. The hare, sun-baked 
hillocks, the arid waters, that surround the 
green oasis of " Hearts' Delight/' the Mahara- 
jah's summer palace, where we were spend- 
ing our honeymoon, seemed almost beautiful 
in our eyes, as we sauntered leisurely along, 
our ponies as close together as the evenness 
of the ground permitted The attendant and 
ubiquitous grooms we had told to await 
our return— we wanted this first ride all to 
our own little selves! Already it seemed as 
if years separated us from all the fuss of 
yesterday — the marigold garlanded veranda ; 
the smart bonnets, which had replaced the 
so/ar-f&pees at the unwonted hour of noon ; 
the venerable tall hats, exhumed for the 
auspicious occasion ; the gay uniforms, 
and, finally, the driving off, tn Jims little 
bamboo cart, " over the hills and faraway, 15 
to this out-of-the-way nook of " Hearts' 

If Jim the lover had been delightful, what 
were not my views about Jim the husband, 
as I looked up at his dear, tanned face, and 
bleached moustache, as he rode so close by 
my side ! 

And just then, his keen hunter's eye espied 

V " xi - 6 gilizedbyGoOgl 

that unlucky herd of black-buck, alarmed by 
our unexpected appearance, bounding away 
over the horizon ! Not that the sight told 
upon him yet, though. 

"One — two— four— five — " counted Jim, 
screwing up his eyes, "and a fine head, by 
Jove ! }i he added, as the horned lord of the 
family brought up the rear, driving his 
harem before him. 

When the sun grew hot we turned back to 
the palace. The servants had laid breakfast 
for us in the beautifully carved white marble 
garden-house, where we had slept. In front 
shimmered an artificial tank of water, where 
fat fish basked in the shadow of the stone 
steps* Around were bosky alleys of mango 
and orange trees, with here and there open 
sunny spaces, gay with purple bougainvillea 
and yellow alamanda, and sweet with roses. 
The ringdoves cooed unseen in the branches; 
the pert hoopoos strutted about the paths. 
Behind, on a wide terrace, and faced by a 
huge portico, rose the palace of " Hearts' 
Delight," a dream of delicate tracery of 
salmon-coloured stone. Surrounded by an 
obsequious group of servants, my prince by 
my side, I felt like a fairy heroine out of the 
Arabian Nights ! 

Then the spell was broken. 

"Those black-buck!" muttered Jim, his 
mouth full of tinned salmon. l( I should 
like to have a try for them this evening. On 
that ground, with those hillocks, I believe I 
could get up to them beautifully ! " 

Already, with my superior woman-instinct, 
I knew better than to thwart even the most 
devoted of twenty-four-hours-old husbands, 
when his sporting tendencies were aroused. 




" Oh ! do have a try ! " I exclaimed; but I 
fancy my tone belied my words. 

"And leave you, little woman?" tenderly. 

"Oh, I don't mind ! I'd like you to get a 
nice buck/' 

" You might ride out with me;' he 
demurred, " as far as that dry jheel JI 


" And get in the way and spoil sport ! " 
I laughed, "and have to ride back alone 3 
Fd sooner be left here in the garden ! " 

" Well, 111 talk it over with Mohun ! " 
Jim added, and then we returned to a 
subject that interested us both much more 
deeply — namely, our own two selves, and all 
we had ever thought or felt concerning each 
other, from the very first moment that Jim 
was introduced to me. The gentle reader 
will understand the style of conversation, dis- 
jointed, unconnected, eyes and hand:* playing 
their part in it, and, doubtless, lips, too, might 
have had their share, did not the presence of 
the ubiquitous servants, and of Mohun the 
faithful, hovering in the rear, forbid, 

Mohun is Jim's familiar, his shikari or 

by Google 

huntsman, tall, straight, swarthy, and wiry, 
with a beaked nose and eyes like a hawk. 
Not a shot has Jim fired these many years, 
but Mohun has been in at the death. He 
is a premier of woodcraft, a hunter to the 
very tips of his bony, claw-like hands. What 
I admire about Mohun, how- 
ever, is the fact that Jim is 
unto him like a god/ He 
adores the very ground his 
sahib treads on. Once, In- 
deed, away in Kashmir, Jim 
avers, Mohun saved his life, 
nursing him like a woman, 
through a bad attack of fever 
up in his tiny tent on the 
edge of the snows. 

I sometimes fancy Mohun 
is a shade jealous of me over 
our Jim, In the former's 
eyes I am but a poor thing. 
I cannot stalk, and to shoot 
I am afraid. I feel, on the 
other hand, that in the life 
-I Jim aim Mohun, I have 
neither part nor lot. 

The morning passed away 
like a beautiful dream. After 
breakfast we strolled about 
the garden ; then, when the 
sun grew unbearable, 
we explored the cool 
depths of the palace, 
"Hearts' Delight'* 
is one wealth of deli- 
cate stone carving — 
portico, loggia, oriel, 
balcony, and turret ; 
the product of a land 
where labour is a drug 
in the market. The 
present Maharajah, 
brought up by English tutors, affects the 
place but little, preferring Simla and Calcutta. 
The palace was built by his old uncle, the 
late Maharajah, whom we deposed, a rather 
grim personage of the true Oriental type, 
and of evil, Mutiny, notoriety. His successor 
keeps the place up well, and is always ready 
to lend it to any English officials of the neigh- 
bouring frontier districts, and certainly it is 
an ideal place for a honeymoon. 

We wandered through the halls, the floors 
of which were mostly innocent of soap and 
water. In the dim arches of the vast purtico 
hung flying foxes, snooping through the mid- 
day heat The great hall was chiefly re- 
markable for huge gilt French mirrors and 
great glass candelabra, for which the late 
Original from 




Maharajah had a true native's passion, but 
which contrasted ill with the Moorish arches 
and the stone carving. 

At the back of the palace, as we stepped 
out on to a hanging balcony of stone, we 
came unexpectedly on a large artificial pond, 
washing the very walls, 

"Not a very delightful addition to the 
place t" I exclaimed, sniffing disdainfully as 

I gazed down into its pea-soup-like depths. 

II And what is that? A rock? Mud? 
Rocks ? " 

In the shade of the walls, half in the 
water, half in the mud, were dark masses. 

" Rocks?" laughed Jim. "Wait and 

And he signed to a native who had 
followed us; carrying, I had wondered why, 
large pieces of raw meat These he threw 
down among my ** rocks." 

Instantly there was a stir, an upheaval 
of the water, and a vision of crawling 
feet, of yellow-white bellies, of gaping jaws, 
and of rows upon rows of gleaming teeth. 
The pond was alive with crocodiles ! I 
thought they would snap off each others 
hideous heads as they fought for the dainty 
morsels ! 

"There are both sorts there," remarked 
Jim, calmly looking down upon the fray. 
" The long-nosed, fish-eating l mugger/ 
and the bottle, or snub-nosed gentleman, 
who devours the unwary washerman, when 
he ventures too far out into the stream." 

" Ugh !" I shuddered, turning away 
disgust. " It's horrible ! I can't bear 
watch them. I wish you hadn't " 

Jim apologized, abjectly, all the 
way back through the great hall. I 
forgave him. After tiffin, as we sat 
on the terrace in the shade of the 
portico, a native juggler came and 
performed his tricks to us. He did 
the most marvellous things then and 
there, on the bare stone, with scarcely 
a rag upon him in which to conceal his 
apparatus— quite putting a many - poeketed 
European conjurer to shame. We beheld 
mango trees grow under a flower-pot from a 
mere leaf to a shrub some feet high. We 
saw a man, shut up in a basket much too 
small for him, and stabbed through and 
through till the sword was gory, suddenly 
reappear intact from the hall behind us. 
The juggler swallowed knives and vomited 
burning tow, and when we were aweary of 
him we adjourned to an open space beyond 
the lake, where they spread a carp* -i a ml 
brought chairs, and wild beasts came and 

fought before us. There were rams that 
butted each other with their horns, elephants 
that wrestled with their trunks, and swarthy- 
maned wild Brahmin bulls that charged 
bellowing. All these shows to do honour to 
my Jim, as representing Her Majesty across 
the frontier in Pugreepoor. 

I fancy it was the fighting rams that turned 
Jims thoughts back to the black-buck of the 

He called Mohun to him, There was a 
brief consultation. Then he turned to me, 
and of course, I let him go ! There were yet 
two good hours of daylight before dinner- 
time. Before then Jim might secure a fine 
head. Mohun was forthwith sent forward 
with coolies and the rifle. The pony was 
hurriedly brought round, and Jim trotted 
away under the carved gateway. I must 
say that I felt a little sad as his knicker- 
bockers and brown putties vanished round 
the corner of the mud huts which clustered 
round the palace gate. 


Original from 

i it \V\ \\ '" wnyirifli iiuiii 




Left to my own devices, I returned to our 
Pearl Garden House. Causing a chair and a 
table to be brought to me out on a chabuttra y 
or raised stone platform among the rose 
trees, I sat down to indite a long epistle to 

Ethel ! my very dearest school chum ! 
Ethel, who, if promises counted, for anything, 
and miles of ocean had not intervened,, 
should have been " best girl " at my wedding ! 
And now, after all, here I had been married 
with ne'er a bridesmaiden at all ! There 
were but four girls in all Pugreepoor, and, of 
these, one was whity-brown and impossible, 
and the other three none too friendly with 
me on account of the failure of their designs 
upon Jim, the eligible assistant magistrate. 

So, naturally, there were reams to write to 
Ethel. I wrote, and I wrote, till the short 
Indian twilight fell over the garden, and the 
servants came to say dinner was ready, and 
would I wait for the sahib ? 

1 awoke from writing all about Jim, to 
miss him. How late he was ! I wandered 
disconsolately about the gardens on the look- 
out for him. But he came not. Instead, 
came the night, alone. The bats began to 
skim under the* branches. The flying foxes 
emerged from the portico, and the distant cry 
of a jackal, weird, blood-curdling, replaced 
the ring-dove's coo of the morning. 

After waiting an hour, I yielded reluc- 
tantly to the old bearer's persuasion, and 
toyed with a solitary meal which choked me. 
In vain Ali Boxus assured me that there was 
no counting upon the sahib's return when 
once he set off shooting. That was poor 
comfort ! How different had been our snug 
little dinner of the night before ! 

Darkness fell : under the shadow of the 
mango trees, a darkness that might be felt. 
The moon would hot rise till midnight ; with 
the darkness came all sorts of fears, real and 
imaginary ; fears of snakes and toads and 
jackals ; fears of accident, if not of death, to 
Jim ; recollections of horrid guns going off 
unawares, of ponies falling down and break- 
ing their riders' necks ! 

I no longer dared go out as far as the 
gateway and listen for his horse's hoofs. 
Even the strange, dark garden had mysterious 
terrors. I huddled in the centre octagonal 
room of our Pearl Kiosque, sitting miserably 
on my little camp bed, Jim's empty one be- 
side me. 

I think that I must have cried a little, at 
last, I felt so utterly lonely. Then the ayah 
came and persuaded me to let her undress 
me and put me to bed, as was her wont. 


She gently massaged my limbs, crooning the 
while softly to herself. The dim light of a 
wick in a saucer of oil on the ground in one 
corner faintly lit up the beautiful tracery of 
the arches, and the form of the old bearer 
stretched on guard in the veranda. In- 
sensibly I dozed. 

But fitfully. Every now and again I 
awoke starting, fancying Jim had returned. 
Then I began to dream, horrid dreams : I 
was out shooting with Jim, and wild beasts, 
huge and fierce, beset us. Mohun was there, 
but would not help us. He kept on saying 
that the sahib was in my charge now. Then 
a great sort of wolf attacked Jim. I threw 
myself between them — I could see its fangs 
— the creature's mouth slobbered over me — 
I awoke with a shriek ! 

There, between me and a little lamp, was 
a beast — huge — gaunt — hairy — with a big 
mouth wide open ! I could hear it eating — 
lapping ! I sat up in terror. Was my 
dream true ? Was it eating Jim ? But my 
scream scared it. It slunk away — a poor, 
starved wretch of a pariah dog, driven to 
lapping the oil out of the lamp. I sprang 
out of bed. There was no Jim ! I was 
still alone in this open, unprotected garden- 
house ! I shouted for the ayah and the 
bearer, who woke up, frightened at my 

Not another moment, I exclaimed, would I 
remain without the sahib in this place where 
all sorts of things could roam in. I could 
not sleep a wink ! I ordered them to find 
me out some other room at once, and I 
shivered with the night air and with terror. 

The bearer, still half-asleep, joined his 
bands in supplication. Of course, my High- 
Mightiness could go where I liked ; but the 
Maharajah's sahib guests always had their 
beds laid in the Pearl Garden House. 
The palace was doubtless unwashed and 
mosquito-y, but if it was safer, I would sleep 
there. No, not in the big hall — that would 
give me the blues. Were there no little 
rooms ? 

The bearer departed to investigate, through 
some of the Rajah's myrmidons, lying asleep 
about the place. He returned with the 
information that my High-Mightiness could 
rest in the Bebi-Khana, the women's apart- 
ments, over the great hall. So we set forth — 
they do these things so easily in India — I and 
my servants, my bed, my bag, and my tea- 

The huge mirrors of the great hall, by the 
dim light of the bearer's lantern, reflected a 
very woebegone little white face. By a 




narrow little dirty stairs in the thickness of 
the wall we climbed to a suite of rooms high 
up. I chose the least and innermost, as the 
securest* as well as the airiest, with the night 
breeze blowing in through a glassless window 
opening on to a small, arched balcony of 
stone. The servants quickly arranged my 
little bed, and in a few minutes I had lain 
down again, while the ayah, her head muffled 
in her white shawl, after the manner of her 
kind, stretched herself on the floor of the 
adjoining room. 

Despite my gnawing anxiety about Jim, 
the change, the cooler air, soon made me 
drowsy, and I quickly fell asleep, this time 
soundly and dream less ly. How long I slept 
I cannot tell. I was suddenly awoke by the 
sound of a voice, near at hand. 

I opened my eyes. Straight in front of 
me, through the carved arches of the balcony, 
was a brilliant patch of light The moon 
hnd risen, hut, inside, the room was in dense 
shadow. By the dim light of the flickering 
lamp on the floor, when i turned my head, I 
saw a figure in the doorway* 


I sprang up in bed as it advanced slowly 
towards me and resolved itself into that of a 
wizen old scarecrow of a native woman, 
quite half -naked, and simply a miss of 
wrinkles and bones, crowned with a few stray 

by Google 

grey locks. It might have been a hundred 
years old ; it looked scarcely human, till it 
opened its toothless jaws and spoke. 

** Ha ! here you are, Shahzadi," it quavered, 
grimly. " I have sought you everywhere, 
and I have found you at last ! " it added, 
with a grin so fiendish that I sat up in bed 
too transfixed with terror even to scream or 

* £ The beautiful white Princess ■ " it croaked, 
sidling nearer, li with the yellow hair and the 
pale face ! Ha ! Salaam ! the beautiful new 
Maharanee ! Salaam ! The Maharajah's 
Hearts Delight. The beautiful prisoner — 
all the white men killed ! Only the white 
Shahzadi left, and left to be the Maharajah's 
Bebi! Ha!" she hissed, "I have 1 found 
you at last ! " 

She seemed about to spring upon me. I 
saw her eyes glitter in the gloom. For a 
moment I shrank up against the wall, and 
then I jumped over the end of the bed, and 
glanced round for a means of escape. But 
the old madwoman had got between me 
and the door ! I tried to scream. But my 

tongue clave to the 
roof of my mouth. 
Besides, ayahs 
asleep, and swad- 
dled up like mum- 
mies, are stone 
deaf. Then it all 
happened so 
quickly. She ad- 
vanced upon me, 
nearer and nearer, 
still with that 
horrible grin and 
jabbering wildly. 

u Found ! found ! 
You white Bebi ! 
Beautiful? Faugh ! 
Once I was beauti- 
ful too> and his 
Highness the Ma- 
harajah loved my 
long black hair and 
my fat white neck." 
I edged away — 
hack — back. She 
drew upon me like 
a baleful old snake, 
fascinating me with 
her horrible glower, 
"I was the Maharajah's Heart's Delight. 
I was the Maharanee, till you came, you 
white Shahzadi ! Yah ! w 

I was against the pillar through the arch- 
way- — in the balcony — on she came! 
Original from 





" Wah ! wah ! " she croaked " Beautiful ? 
I will make you beautiful — I'll dim those 
beautiful eyes of yours — — " 

A long, bony arm, bangle laden, hovered 
in the air* A knife gleamed in the moonlight 
as she swooped down upon me, Whether 
she pushed me, whether I let myself fall, 1 
cannot say. But the next moment I was 
over the edge of the balcony and down, thirty 
feet, into the pond below ! 

There was a yell of maniacal laughter, the 
shadow of a figure following me as I fell ! [ 
struck the water and sank. A struggle brought 
me to the surface again. In front of me the 
sheer walls of the palace glittered white in 
the moonlight A few strokes, and I felt the 
ground under my feet : soft, slimy ooze and 
mud, under the very walls. 

I leant agamst the stone to fetch my 
breath, and looked up and around* Not a 
buttress or a prop to climb up by within 
reach. Under the sheer wall a narrow strip 
of mud. At the end of the pond, could I 
reach it, stone steps* I took 
a step forward, But, ah ! what 
was that dark shadow in the 
moonlight— and another — and 
yet another ? I had reckoned 
without the muggers ! Mug- 
gers to right, to Jeft, in front 
—basking, half-asleep in the 
moonlight — frightful — loath- 
some — evil- 

I clung to the wall, para- 
lyzed with terror, not daring 
to move a step- How could 
I hope to escape those sharp 
eyes, those greedy jaws ? But 
I was young, and the instinct 
of self-preservation is strong. 
I thought, if indeed at such a 
moment I could be said to 
think at all, that my only 
slender chance of safety lay 
in creeping stealthily along the 
tiny strip of 007 e and reach- 
ing the steps at the other 
end. But was it possible, 
without waking those slumber- 
ing monsters ? 

Nerving myself to the utmost, 
I made an effort Luckily, 
my bare feet and my scanty 
garments enabled me to move 
quietly and with as little dis- 
turbance as possible of the 
water. I crept slowly, hardly 
daring to put one foot before 
the other. The moonlight 

was so fearfully searching. At every step it 
revealed fresh horrors — a gruesome head 
slowly peeping out of the water, a loathly, 
claw-like paw lying on the mud. The horrid 
monsters lay so thick together, some half-atop 
of the others, that even my stealthy move- 
ments rippling the water caused them to stir. 
My night-dress flicked some horny back, or 
swept over a black snout, which, when I had 
passed by, slowly opened and snapped to 
behind me. 

Once I trod on a great, fat, horny-eared 
toad, and I nearly collapsed with terror as it 
flopped into the water, arousing the dreaded 
sleepers. Around me in the moonlight I 
seemed to see hundreds of eyes opening, 
hundred of gleaming jaws full of white teeth ! 

The palace wall seemed interminable. 
Should I never gain the steps? Just, how- 
ever, when they appeared within reach, and 
I had just begun to breathe freely, one 
monster, larger than all the rest, seemed to 
bar my way* I clung helplessly to the wall, 


by Google 


Original from 



and gave myself up for lost For he was 
sleeping badly. Perhaps he had indigestion, 
or the mosquitoes annoyed him ! Anyhow, 
ever and anon his long tail moved a little 
and his jaws slowly opened and shut. I 
remember standing there, staring terror- 
stricken at him, wondering if I should take 
long to die, if Jim 

But the mere thought of Jim nerved me 
to a fresh effort. Could I not hazard a wild 
leap over the monster's back — a step back- 
wards, a steady take-off, the mud permitting ? 
What was the use of all my training, my 
golf, my tennis, if now,, in this desperate 
hour of need, I could not leap for my 
life ? 

I drew back to make the attempt, feeling 
hopelessly the while that the mud would 
prevent a fair start ; that the creature, snap- 
ping at my clothes, would pull me down — 
when, just as I had nerved myself to try, it 
slowly sank down beneath the water and 
disappeared ! 

A moment later and, more dead than 
alive, I had staggered up the steps, pursued 
by a horrible sound of disturbed water and 
snapping jaws. There was a sort of path of 
clear, dry, sunbaked ground ; beyond, a stone 
seat. I just reached it, and then Nature 
revenged herself for the prolonged tension, 
and I fainted. When I came to myself, the 
moonlight was struggling with the dawn. I 
still lay upon the seat, but my head was 
pillowed on something soft, and over me 
bent — my husband ! 

" Thank God ! " I heard his voice. It 
was no dream, then. 

" Jim ! Back all right ? " 

My eyes spoke what my voice had not 
strength to utter. 

"Hush! My darling! Drink this. Now, 
let me carry you " 

"Not back to that room!" I gasped, 
shudderingly, clinging to him. 

" No, no, my darling. Lie quiet ; do not 
talk. Ill take you to % our own little Pearl 
Garden House." 

And there he laid me. It was all clear 
and fair now— scented with roses, and full 
of ring-doves, too, cooing. Then a fit of 
hysterical tears relieved my overstrained 
nerves, and I sobbed myself to sleep, holding 
Jim's hand. 

When I awoke it was high noon in the 
world outside. I felt myself once more, and 
was able to hear Jim's story. He was dread- 
fully penitent Only to look at him, my 
Jim, with the iron nerves, who had faced 
charging tigers and mad elephants, you could 

by L^OOgle 

see that he had had almost as great a fright 
as myself. 

As for himself, this was what had occurred : 
Mohun, slipping down a ravine, had cut an 
artery in his leg with his hunting-knife, and 
wrenched his ankle badly. 

" I felt I could not leave him there alone 
to bleed to death. I wish I had, now," 
muttered Jim. 

" Jim ! " 

" If I had known, my own — fifty Mohuns 
— but never mind that now ! Well, I tied 
him up, and waited till all the danger was over. 
It was quite dark by then; the stalk had 
been such a long one." 

" You got a fine head ? " 

" Yes — no. I really can't remember. The 
deer — I've forgotten all about it ! " 

" You f Oh, Jim ! And what next ? " 

"Well, you see, Mohun couldn't move, 
and I had to go off and get help to carry 
him. The nearest village was a couple of 
miles off, and I kept losing my way among 
the hills, and all the time I was worried to 
pieces wondering what you would think, how 
anxious you'd be." 

" Not many sahibs would have taken all 
that trouble for a 'nigger,' Jim," I murmured, 

" It was nothing, but for you / Besides, I 
owe Mohun something always for that time 
in Kashmir. However, I got him back all 
right in time. But I returned to find the 
Garden House empty ! Then they sent me 
to the Bebi-Khana. There I found AH 
Boxus and the ayah off their heads with 
terror. Your bed in the inner room was 
empty — you had utterly disappeared ! " 

" My poor Jim ! " 

" We hunted all over the palace," he con- 
tinued, " and, of course, in vain ! Then — 
then suddenly — I remembered — the — the 
muggers ! " 

He stopped abruptly, grew pale beneath 
his tan, and the hand holding mine shook. 

" We turned to the lake, and there I found 
you— wet — cold — I thought dead — but I 
found you ! " 

He could not go on. But I nestled my 
head upon his shoulder, and he, feeling me 
close to him, alive and warm, clasped me as 
if he could never let me go again, and thus, 
gradually, and in broken sentences, I told 
him the story of my night. 

Ere we left " Hearts' Delight " that even- 
ing — bringing, at my urgent pleading, our 
honeymoon to an abrupt conclusion, for 
nothing would have induced me to spend 
another night in the place — Jim inflicted 





summary %-engeance. While men in punts 
beat the hke, he from the bank shot every 
bottle-nosed or man-eating mugger as soon 
as it showed its hideous snout above water. 
The hide of the largest, a hideous monster, 
the patriarch of all the evil tribe, he wished 
to preserve as a trophy, and, at its skinning, 
two strange things came to light. In its 
stomach were found a silver amulet of native 
manufacture, and a gold ring, evidently Eng- 
lish. The stones had dropped out, but on 
rubbing it up we were enabled to read the 
inscription inside : — 

" Ethel Clayton, from Jack Joyce. Till 
death do us part" 

'* Ethel Clayton ! " I exclaimed. " Why, 
that was the name of mamma's poor sister f 
Jack Joyce ! Why, surely that was the 
name of the man she was engaged to — he 
was killed at the forlorn hope at Delhi — 
volunteered for it, mamma said, he was so 
broken-hearted about her death " 

"Her death?" repeated Jim, xt But this 
ring ? " 

" Poor Aunt Ethel ! She was killed in the 
massacre at Guramghur 3 you know, when the 
treacherous old 
Ma hara jah- " 

I stopped short, 
a horrible light 
breaking in upon 
me as I stared at 
the ring, and the 
mad jabberings of 
the old crone in the 
night burst into my 
mind again. 

u Unless — unless 
— oh ! Jim. you don't 
think — it can't be 
possible ? * — and I 
covered my face 
with my hands as 
if to shut out some 
horrible sight 

Whether our terrible surmise was true we 
were never able to discover Jim made 
every investigation, but in vain. With the 
wicked old Maharajah had vanished all his 
myrmidons and the old regime. Either 
through ignorance or fear, not a soul about 
the place could or would say anything about 
any white woman brought to the palace forty 
years before, after the terrible massacre at 

Only one person, they all agreed, could 
have told us anything about it : that was the 
late Maharajah's favourite wife— now a hag- 
gard old crone, with failing wits — through 
the kindness of his successor allowed to end 
her days at * c Hearts' Delight" 

But she had not been seen since last 
evening, Only the amulet found inside the 
mugger, and which was at once identified 
as hers, corroborated the mad laugh and 
the falling figure which had followed m^ 
as I fell, and left us in no doubt as to 
her fate. 

For my part, when I recall her fren- 
zied words, and recollect that mamma 
has often told me how like I am to 

poor Aunt Ethel, 
I see plainly that 
my sudden appear- 
ance at " Hearts' 
Delight" must 
have aroused in the 
m is e ra b I e m a n ia c y s 
distraught mind 
a fit of the jealousy 
of forty years 
back, and feel no 
doubt that some- 
how or other (how, 
we shall never know 
this side the grave) 
my poor young aunt 
fell a victim to the 
awful death I so 
narrowly escaped, 


by Google 

Original from 


Yams from Captains' Logs. 

By Alfred T. Story. 

AILORS' yarns are proverbially 
interesting. This arises largely 
from the element, of mystery 
which envelops the whale's 
bath, as the ocean is named in 
the oldest English epic, and 
from the spirit of adventure which attaches 
to all who go down to the sea in ships. 

It was the boldest and most daring spirits 
who in the earliest of early times ventured 
from land in the frail coracle or simple dug- 
out canoe. And yet these must have seemed 
but timid seafarers in comparison with the 
adventurous souls who yoked the wind to 
their tiny keels, and, emulating the strong- 
winged sea-birds, made the waves their home, 
and ploughed its furrows for their food. But 
what \ is the taking of a coracle or an 
ancient galley out to sea in comparison with 
the running of the passenger steamers that 
ply between Liverpool or Southampton and 
New York, or between London and the 
Australian Colonies or India ? 

Hence it is that the sailor's story is as full 
of charm as ever to the landsman, and that, 
if well told, it rarely palls upon the taste. 
It is not every seaman, however, who has got 
a yarn to tell like that of the Ancient 
Mariner or the Flying Dutchman, although 
there are still living numberless old salts who 
are ready to take their affidavit on the fact of 
having seen the redoubtable Mynheer's phan- 
tom ship. 

Science and steam have effected much for 
those who do business in the great deep, 
but they have not yet killed the sea-serpent ; 
neither have modern enlightenment and the 
School Board altogether exorcised the Spirit 
of Evil from the face of the waters —or, per- 
haps, we should say that they have not as 
yet quite enfranchised the mind of the sailor 
from the superstitions that formerly were as 
prevalent as the tang of the salt in the air we 
breathed, and that so largely influenced his 
actions and conduct. Of this the following 
incident is a witness. The amusing little 
drama was narrated to the writer by the wife 
of one of the actors therein, and though the 
event did not appear in the captain's log, 
that circumstance arose simply from the fact 
that he could not write. 

On a dark and dismal night a few years 
ago a small coasting schooner was tossing 
about off the south-east coast. The wind 
whistled ominously, telling in its own unmis- 

VoL xl-7. L 

takable language of a rapidly approaching 
storm. The skipper, a seasoned old salt, 
felt, with a knowledge that had become 
instinct, that they were going to have a dirty 
night. He knew that there was not a 
moment to be lost if he would have his 
vessel put in readiness to meet the coming 
tempest. The first thing to be done was to 
get in the topsail, and he accordingly gave 
the order to a man standing near him :— 

" Jack, go aloft and furl the tops'el ! " 

To the master's astonishment, the man he 
addressed, though a sailor of undoubted 
bravery, hesitated to obey. The skipper 
rapped out an oath, and bade him do as he 
was bid. But the sailor still held back, and 
when reproached for a coward and a poltroon, 
the poor fellow blurted out the reason of his 
extraordinary conduct by saying : — 

" A darn't, sir. A've 'eard queer sounds 
in th' riggin* as a don't much care for. It 
strikes me there's somethin' unnat'ral 'bout 

" Rubbish ! " cried the skipper, now well- 
nigh boiling with rage. "Do as I tell ye 
this moment, or it'll be the worse for ye." * 

Jack, fearing the rough treatment he would 
inevitably bring down upon himself if he 
persisted in his disobedience, made up his 
mind to dare the terror that lurked in the 
pitch darkness enshrouding the rigging, and 
began to ascend towards the topsail yard. 
But he had not gone far aloft ere he came 
to a sudden stop. Then with a precipitancy 
which he had not shown in going up, he 
tumbled down to the deck again. 

" Now, then, you lubber ! What's taken 
possession of you now?" demanded the 

"Oh, Cap'n!" cried the terrified fellow, 
as soon as his agitation would permit him to 
speak, " the bad un's in the riggin'. I ain't 
agoin' t' furl that ere tops'el with 'im a lurkin' 

The skipper ground his teeth, but vouch- 
safed not a word to the scared man. With 
a look of contempt he pushed past him, and 
commanded a young Irishman to perform 
the task, adding : " And look smart about 
it, d'ye hear ? " 

" Ay, ay, skipper ! " responded Paddy, 
who, glad to show his superiority to danger 
and fear, swung himself aloft with the 
alacrity of a monkey. But no sooner had 
he reached the top than, like Jack, Paddy 




became trans- 
fixed with 
horror. Not 
another step 
did he venture 
to take, but 
instead went 
helter - skelter 
reaching the 
deck even 
quicker than 
his shipmate 
had done. Nor 
did he attempt 
to hide the 
white feather 

"Och, surer 
cried he, "an' 
if it ain't the 
foul fiend him- 
self that has 
got into the 

"Get along, 
you cowardly 
lubber ! " cried 
the incensed 

*'Faix, mas- 
ther, but I 
heerd him say, 
* Rough wea- 
ther, mates/ as plain as plain could be- 
an 3 as fur furling the sail in face of that 
imp of sin — you may do it yourself, for, 
begor, I won't," 

"Fiend or no fiend," shouted the captain, 
who was now in a towering rage, "I'll have 
that topsail down " ■ and seizing a knife, he 
proceeded to climb the rigging, 

Rut no sooner had he reached the top 
than he receive J, in a harsh, rancous voice, 
the same greeting as his men : — 

" Rough weather, mates— rough weather !' J 

Needless to say that, like Jack and I'addy, 
the skipper was terribly scared ; and if he 
did not get down to the deck as quickly as 
they, it was because he was less supple in the 
joints, not because his hurry was less. 

There was now no doubt as to the ship 
being, for the time, the abode of a demon, 
The only question was what to do with the 
schooner with such an unwelcome visitor on 
board. A hasty council of war was held, with 
the resulting unanimous feeling that their 
prospects of ever seeing daylight again were 
very small. All were of opinion that the 


HOW, 1 

only chance 
they had lay in 
being very 
good, and do- 
ing nothing to 
anger the Evil 
One* Accord- 
ingly the y 
steered the ship 
to the best of 
their ability, 
and kept very 
quiet, fearing 
all the time lest 
the grim terror 
in the rigging 
should lead 
them to des- 
truction upon a 
sand, or against 
same sunken rock. 
In this state of 
anxiety and fear 
they passed the 
night ; and gladly 
did they hail the 
first faiYit gleam 
of returning day, 
which also brought 
some mitigation of 
the tempest. Then 
the eyes of the 
crew were strained 
as they gazed up into the rigging to see if per- 
chance the demon was still there. Nothing 
as yet could they descry, for the mist con- 
tinued to cling about the masts and shrouds ; 
but the Irish sailor vowed that he could make 
out a pair of eyes a-gleam near the mast- 
head ; and there was no mistake about the 
voice that suddenly cried down to them, 
making Jack almost jump overboard with 
fright :— 

" Now, then, you lubbers, belay, there, 
belay ! " 

Everybody expected next moment to see 
the grim monster show himself in their midst 
But behold their surprise when, instead, they 
saw a large, handsome parrot fly down into 
the top and salute them with something very 
much like a laugh. The accomplished bird 
had flown into the schooner's rigging from a 
passing vessel, and was thus, no doubt in- 
nocently enough, the cause of a night of 
heart-quaking and anxiety to a whole crew. 

One could not have got that story from the 
good skipper himself- for, like the rest of us, 
the sailor is reluctant to let out that which 


iies, you ] a Hutu p what s 





tells against himself, Thus it often happens 
that Jack's best yarns are rounded off with a 
" Rut you must not tell that/' or it may be 
that you may only tell it with a variation. 

But such is not the case in the following 
experiences taken from the lips of masters of 
some of the largest vessels belonging to our 
mercantile marine. They are selected with 
a view to show what are the kind of men who 
hold command in our moving cities of the 
deep, what are the perils they go through, 
and what the training they receive in order 
to be able to cope with them. 

It is fitting to begin with the Commodore 
of the Penisular and Oriental Company's fleet. 
Captain William Andrews, master of the 
Caitdonia y the newest and largest of the 
vessels that carry the P, and O. flag, and 
capable of accommodating eight hundred 
passengers. It is interesting to record that 
Captain Andrews ran away to sea when he 
was sixteen years of age — the more so 
because lads do not do such things now, and 
not many girls- His first voyage was to the 
West Indies, with a hard master, and plenty 
of salt junk, and little else, to eat. He lived 
through it, however, gained his experience by 

years of hard work in sail- 
ing ships, then joined the 
P, and O* and became a 
" steam - sailor." Much 
of his early years in the 
service was spent in the 
India and China seas. 
That was in the pre-Suez 
Canal days, when the 
company gave 
extra pay to those 
who worked on 
"the other side," 
that is, on the 
Red Sea side of 
the I sthmus of Suez* 
Captain Andrews 
tells an interesting 
experience of his 
voyage, as a pas- 
senger, from Singa- 
pore to Hong Kong, 
to take his first 
command This 
was in December, 1864:— 
ki In the middle of the 
China .Seas a typhoon came 
on " 1 tell the story, as nearly as 
possible, in the captain's own words. 
" It was out of season, the regular 
season for such cyclonic disturbances 
being July, August, and September, 
and came on unexpectedly. We got into the 
centre of it and tried to run back, but it over- 
took us; and there we were, with the wind now 
coming in a gust from this quarter and now 
from that, so that you did not know how to 
take it, and the sea jumping up all about 
you, with no regular motion as at ordinary 
times. I volunteered to assist at the helm, 
which it took two or three men to hold, it 
tugged so terribly at times, owing to the 
heavy seas striking the rudder. Big seas 
were coming over us all the time, and again 
and again the men assisting me were thrown 
down, and I had to sustain the tug of the 
helm alone. You see, I was bigger than 
they were, and at that time very powerful" 

A query at this point elicited the fact that 
Captain Andrews's height is 5ft. loin., that he 
is 4 7 in, round the chest, and that his present 
weight is i6st 

He went on : "We stood it for sixteen hours, 
and then the hurricane moderated. When it 
was over, and we were going on again all right, 
we came in sight of a steamer with her fore- 
mast gone right down to the deck. She had 
lost her mainmast, too., and a lot of spars. We 

•^HHflVfefettf ^ffittfflG'Afl ny aMi,,tance - 



"After the storm, during the whole of 
which— a stretch of sixteen hours — I was at 
the helm and wet through to the skin, I got 
into a hot bath to prevent me from taking 
cold, and then went to bed. The next day, 
when I awoke, I was all over black marks. 
Wherever there had been a strain of the 
muscles, through holding on to the helm — 
and it was sometimes as much as I could do 
to keep my grip — there was a black mark, 
just as though I had been struck a heavy 
blow. I shall never forget that typhoon, 
coming as it did in the fine season. It was 
one of those experiences which, when you 
are in the midst of it, makes you say to 
yourself: * If I get out of this, I will quit 
the sea ' ; but you soon forget that feeling 
when the storm Is past* Lor some years 
after that I was chiefly 
in the China Seas, where 
I had command of a 

Two of the captain!s 
experiences in Celestial 
waters are worth record- 
ing. The P. and CX boats 
are largely manned by 
La scars — a na m 3 co m - 
monly applied to Hindu, 
Malay, and even negro 
sailors, and sometimes — 
especially those engaged 
in the China trade — to 
Chinese, On one oc- 
casion Captain Andrews 
had shipped a lot of 
Celestials, and he was 
afraid, from their looks, 
that some of them were 
no good, and bent on mis- 
chief. There had been cases of Chinese 
shipping in this way, and then, when the 
vessel had reached a certain point down 
the river, giving a signal to piratical junks 
lying hidden in creeks, and so making a 
simultaneous attack on the ship and captur- 
ing her. 

"Not liking the looks of the fellows/' said 
the captain, "and thinking there might be 
some pirates among them, I put a revolver in 
my pocket, gave one to each of my officers, 
and then went down to the engineers and 
handed one to each of them* and told them 
to be on their guard. Then to foil the 
wretches, in case any mischief was to the 
fore, I ran out of sight of land, knowing that 
they could do nothing if they lost their 
bearings. It is usual in going down the 
Canton River to keep in sight of land ; but it 


f rom a Photo, by 

is easy to run ten or twelve miles out, and so 
lose it, and this I did. Nothing happened, 
and my doubts of the Chinese may have 
been unfounded ; but from my knowledge of 
the Celestials and their ways, I hold my 
precaution to have been wise. 

"Talking about pirates/' continued Cap- 
tain Andrews, " I once witnessed a funny 
sight, off the Chinese coast, which never was 
explained. We heard guns firing, and then 
saw a lot of junks letting fly at each other 
like mad. They were going it hot and strong 
with gingals ; but, as it was no affair of mine, 
arid as a stray shot from a gingal would have 
gone through the hull of my vessel (our 
boats not being made to stand gun-shot), I 
gave them a wide berth. And whether it 
was junks of the Chinese navy attacking 
pirates, or pirates attack- 
ing naval junks or mer- 
chant vessels, and what 
was the result of the 
action, I never heard. I 
daresay it was much the 
same, which ever side 

Hut Captain Andrews's 
most curious and interest- 
ing story was the follow- 
ing* It is connected with 
the navigation of the 
Hooghly, perhaps the 
most difficult in the world, 
chiefly because of ths 
changing sandbanks in its 
course. These are so 
variably that fresh sound- 
ings have to be taken 
every day. Calcutta is 
nearly ninety miles up the 
river, which is fifteen miles wHde at its mouth. 
The incident occurred in November, 1856, 
Captain Andrews being then in command of 
the Oriental, one of the P. and O. Company's 

44 It was the fine season," said the captain, 
"and we were just coming in from sea, 
bound for Calcutta, We had reached Sand- 
heads all right, and the men were busy 
aloft scraping the masts and polishing-up 
in readiness for harbour. Suddenly, when 
a little north of Saugor Island, a man aloft 
sang out that there was a white man in 
the water. I gave a look through the glass, 
and there, sure enough, I saw a white man 
splashing about amid the waves a little way 
ahead of us. There was no land or any ship 
near. We had passed the lightship an hour 
before. Lowering a boat, we quickly brought 





him alongside and assisted him up the ladder ; 
for he was so exhausted that he could hardly 
move a limb, and all that he could say was, 
1 Tubal Cain lost and all hands/ He turned 
out to be a pilot belonging to the Calcutta 
pi-lot service, and had been in the water 
sixteen hours. He w T as put to bed and 
attended to by the doctor, and we went on 
our way up the river. When jxassing some 
dangerous rocks just before reaching Hooghly 
Bight, called *The James and Mary; we 
sa w a sa i 1 i ng vessel - a ba rque — ca ps i zed , 
and a lot of men in the rigging and on the 
rocks. We lowered boats and went to their 
assistance, though there was a tremendous 
tide running. The waves were literally 
mountains high, and we had great difficulty 
in rescuing them, some of them being on 
the rocks and almost covered with water, 
while others were on the ends of the yards, 
singing out, ^Come here! Come here! 
Take us off! J By pulling up on the eddy 
we managed to get near enough to take off 
eleven of the crew, 

" Just then I saw a tug-boat plying about 
them, and as my ship fired a gun and I was 
obliged to go on board, I transferred the 
rescued crew to the tug, as most of them 
were without clothing, and so not in a fit 
state to go on board my vessel, which carried 
passengers, I found that the tug had tried 
to rescue the men with her boat, but it had 
capsized and its crew been drowned, 

" It turned out that this vessel had gone 
in at the same time as the Tubal Cain ; but 
the Tubal Cain had struck on a reef or on a 

sandbank, while the Alma had passed in as 
far as the Bight. There the Alma came to 
grief, while the Tubal Lam, after a time, 
floated off 

"The Tubal Cain belonged to the East 
India Company, and had a Lascar crew with 
English officers. When it struck, the pilot 
told them that, when the flood-tide came, it 
would roll over and all would be lost He 
advised, therefore, taking to the boats. This 
they did, the captain, the pilot, the cook, and 
their one passenger taking to one boat, and 
the officers to the other. The captain's boat 
capsized, however, and all hands were lost 
except the pilot 

(A Meanwhile, the Lascars, left to perish on 
the Tubal Cain, clung to the ship, expecting, 
when the flood- tide came, to be drowned like 
rats. But when the tide rose, the ship, 
instead of rolling over, simply floated and 
came off the rocks, and the Serang (as the 
head of a I^scar crew is called) found, when 
she was in deep water, that she was but little 
damaged and could be navigated up to 

*' Karly in the morning came a steamer 
which was taking out pilots to Sandheads, 
The tug which had on board the crew of the 
Alma also put in an appearance, as well as 
the boat with the officers of the Tubal Caitt f 
they having weathered the gale. The latter 
wanted to take charge of the ship, but the 
Serang would not let them. He said they 
had deserted the ship in one boat and the 
captain and th j ; pilot in another, and now he 

and tiwr™trti™fl6/# e the ship up 



to Calcutta without them. And this they 
did, accepting, however, the services of a 
pilot The ufficers went up oti board the 

Captain Duncan, of the South African 
Royal Mail steamer Norkam Castie, has 
stirring yarns to tell of dangers encountered 
and perils gone through, amongst others of 
his only shipwreck, when, through following 
an accidental shore light, instead of the 
proper beacon, a Liverpool pilot ran them 
ashore on the north side of the Mersey. 
The stem of the steamer was deeply em- 
bedded and held fast in the sand, while the 
working of the tide washed away all support 
from under the stern, " And/* said the 
captain (though not then master }, **she 
snapped in two amidships just as you would 
snap a stick across your knee/' But 
Captain Duncan's most 
interesting story is that 
relating to the rescue 
of the crew of the 
sailing ship Fascadalc^ in 
February, 1895* On the 
7th of that month, early 
in the morning, as the 
Nor ham Castle was about 
three miles from land, 
off the mouth of the 
Impenjali River, on the 
borders of Natal and 
Pondoland, proceed! ng 
north, the look-out man 
descried a large four- 
masted vessel lying 
broadside on a reef 
about a mile from shore, 
with a list to seaward, 
while the breakers were 
dashing over its hull, sweeping the deck, and 
breaking in foam half-mast high. The sun was 
shining brightly at the time, and with the aid 
of a glass a number of men could be seen 
clinging to the rigging, and making frantic signs 
of distress. The fore and main masts had 
lower square sails set ; but the mizzenrnast 
had gone by the board, and only the bare 
rigging remained on the jigger, 

As the wind caught the sails, the vessel 
heeled over shorewards ; but the backwash 
of the breakers carried the hull to its first 
position, The Mozambique current, which 
tends southwards along this coast, was at the 
time running with great rapidity, and as the 
wind was driving inshore, causing a heavy 
ground-swell, which was breaking on shore in 
gigantic rollers, Captain Duncan deemed it 
imprudent to venture too close to the wreck. 


Frum a Photo, by H r . & 

He therefore slowed down and sent off two 
lifeboats to the rescue, one of them being 
under the command of the chief officer, Mr, 
Frank Whitehead, The wreck was about 
three miles away, and the men had con- 
siderable difficulty in rowing against the 
heavy swell Before they could reach the 
ill-fated vessel she parted amidships, leaving a 
number of men clinging to the rigging of the 
jigger, while several others had sought refuge 
on the jibboom. As the majority of the ship- 
wrecked sailors were on the after-part of the 
ship, Mr. Whitehead first turned his attention 
to them ; but the sea was running so high, 
and the breakers were sweeping with such 
violence over the poop, that he saw there was 
imminent danger of the boat being carried 
forward by the waves and dashed to pieces 
the hull Several attempts were 
made to cast a line to 
the shipwrecked men, 
so that communications 
might be established 
between them and Mr. 
Whitehead's boat ; but 
it fell short of the mark 
and was carried away 
by the current. 

In the hopelessness 
of effecting the rescue 
of the men in this way, 
the first officer took a 
gallant resolve. Throw- 
ing off his sea-boots and 
upper garments, he fixed 
the end of a log - line 
round his body, and 
plunging into the water, 
he struck out boldly for 
the wreck. It required 
both nerve and muscle to contend with the 
foaming surge, especially as by this time the 
sky had become overcast, and a squall, ac- 
companied by torrents of rain, had set in* 

Meanwhile one of the young apprentices 
on board the wreck — a boy named 
Ferris — decided to assist Mr, Whitehead 
in earning out his plan. With the aid 
of some of his mates he tied a small 
rope round his waist, sprang into the 
sea, and bravely swam towards Mr, White- 
head. It was an exciting moment alike 
for the shipwrecked sailors, whose lives 
depended on the success of these two daunt- 
less swimmers, and for the boats crew, who 
saw their chief officer thus risking his life. 
For some time the contest seemed doubtful ; 
but at length, half- swimming, half-floating, 

,he m&tf^ti&Nr* of -* 

Wrifftit, Forest (j'a4t 



other ; and there in the water, between the 
wrecked ship and the lifeboat, the two lines 
were tied together, and communications 
established, Mr. Whitehead and the plucky 
young 'prentice were drawn aboard the life- 
boat, and a strong rope was sent on to the 
stranded wreck. By means of it the sur- 
vivors were one by one brought to the 
lifeboat — the apprentice boys first and 
then the men, until the whole of the men 
on the poop, except the captain, were 
rescued. The captain refused to leave his 
ship until every man had been saved, and 
there were still five or six men on the jib- 
boom, whom the other boat's crew were doing 
their best to save* though vainly. Under the 
circumstances, and for the reason that the 
captain was so badly bruised by the wreck- 
age that was rushing about the quarter-deck 
as to be almost helpless, Mr. Whitehead, 
although much exhausted by his previous 
efforts, once more plunged into the sea, 
swam to the wreck, and tying a rope about 
himself and the captain, they were both 
drawn to the lifeboat. Meanwhile the men 
on the other part of the wreck, all except 
one, had been rescued by some Kaffirs on 
shore, under the direction of a colonist. 

Captain Duncan tells another incident of 
his career with the Castle Line, whereby he 
possibly averted a great disaster. It occurred 
some years ago when he was master of the 
lonic^ one of the New Zealand line of 
steamers, and 400ft. in length. When goo 
miles from Cape Town he picked up 


a vessel, which was lying helpless upon 
the water with a broken shaft. The Ionic 
was on the way to England when the 
accident occurred. " All told/' said Captain 
Duncan, ** she hid 280 persons on board, 
The broken shaft had knocked a hole in one 
of her plates, and there was nothing but the 
plates of the bulkhead to save her. She was 
just on the other side of the line of naviga- 
tion, and was drifting north at the rate of 
fifteen miles a day. Two or three days more 
and she would have been out of the track of 
vessels going north and south, and no 
steamer would have been likely to see her. 
We towed her back to Cape Town." 

Captain Harris, of the Doum Castle,, an- 
other of Messrs. Donald Currie's magnificent 
vessels, tells a similar stirring incident of 
coming to the rescue of a passenger steamer 
with a broken shaft. The Doune Cast It 
left Southampton on December 8th* On 
Sunday, December i6th, off Cape Verd, 
the look-out reported a two-funnel steamer 
to the south-west which seemed to be 
disabled. Captain Harris concluded that 
it must be the Moor Castle, of the Union 
Line, the mail boat which had sailed just 
before the Doune Castle, and so it turned 
out. " She told us by signal," said Captain 
Harris, "that her machinery had broken 
down, and asked us to steam into the anchor- 
age of Goree and Like off the Christmas mails 
for the Cape. Goree is a little south of the 
promontory thnt: fortrin Cape Verd, and there 

i S a tfmffeiw$pwKtiiG.OTF wem there 



and transferred from the Moor Casffe 500 
large boxes of mails, 120 cases of parcel 
post, and 70 tons of periodicals by means 
of boats. It took us from five o'clock on 
Sunday afternoon until 3.30 on Monday morn- 
ing, working all night without intermission. 
We got into Cape Town on the morning of 
the 27th. The passengers had to wait and 
be passed on to Cape Town by the next 

A more startling incident in Captain 
Harris's experience on the same ship was 
the following, which happened three or four 
years ago. 

84 We were steam- 
ing on somewhere 
near the Equator," 
said Captain Harris, 
u when, about ten 
o'clock at night, there 
came on a summer 
shower, with thunder 
and lightning, This 
came on very sud- 
denly, but it was not 
pa r t i c 11 la rl y h ea vy * It 
was my bed -time ; 
but before going to 
my room I went up 
to the officer on the 
bridge to see that all 
was right As I was 
walking down the 
bridge ladder again, 
there was a terrific 
crash. It was com- 
pletely stunning, and 
nobody could tell 
what had happened. 
To me it was more 
like the crashing of 
a salvo of artillery 
than anything else. 

It was accompanied by a bright blue 
flame, which for a moment almost blinded 
us. At the same time something brilliant 
struck the foremast like a ball of fire, 
which afterwards went off with a hiss- 
ing noise into the sea. Many of the pas- 
sengers and officers thought the boilers had 
burst. The passengers came running out 
of their beds half-dressed, and for a mo- 
ment it seemed as if we were going to 
have a panic ; but I put my head down 
the skylight and told the steward to say 
that everything was all right The explana- 
tion of the matter was that a thunderbolt 
had struck the vessel The strange part of 
the affair w T as that the next morning, when 


Frvm a Photo. fty FT. & Wright, Farat Qate. 

I came to correct the errors of my own 
compass, I found that the ship's compass 
had deviated half a point. The compasses 
gradually settled hack, however, and by the 
time we reached Cape Town they were in 
their normal posit i on J ' 

When Captain Harris was a young man— 
little over nineteen years of age, in fact-he 
had a most thrilling experience — such an 
experience, in fact, as does not occur to one 
man in ten thousand. I will again let him 
tell it in his own way. 

"It was in August, 1864, at the close of 
the American Civil 
War," said he. " I 
was second officer of 
an American brig 
called the Rebecca 
Shepherd^ of about 
500 tons, bound from 
Moulmein, in Burma, 
to Falmouth for 
orders. After passing 
down the Indian Seas, 
we were somewhere 
off the south coast of 
Madagascar, a hun- 
dred or two miles 
away quite. It was a 
dead calm ; the sea 
was like glass ; and 
the brig was literally 
lying Mike a painted 
ship upon a painted 
ocean/ We were 
loaded with teak- 
wood timber, and the 
water came to within 
a few feet of the 
deck. It had been 
my forenoon watch 
from eight till twelve. 
The first mate came 
up to relieve me at twelve o'clock, and, as you 
may imagine, in a sailing vessel like that, with 
no ladies on board, we were not fastidious 
about our dress, 1 had on a pair of white duck 
trousers, a shirt, and no shoes or stockings. 
I said to the mate when he came up to 
relieve me, ' What a frightful day ! I 
should like to jump overboard and have a 
swim.' He sard: ' You dare not. T I said : 
'Will you bet me a sovereign on it?' He 
said ' Yes,* No sooner said than done. I 
accepted the bet, threw my cap on the deck, 
and took a plunge overboard. The water 
was beautifully refreshing, neither too cold 
nor too warm,- I swam. about in the neigh- 
bourhood of the ship for some time, enjoying 




myself immensely. Suddenly, as I was 
about thirty yards from the ship, the mate 
shouted, 'Come on board — quick I ' I 
wondered whether a breeze had sprung up 
and the vessel was sailing away, or anything, 
and swam towards the ship. But the mate 
still continued to shout, 'Come on board as 
quickly as you can — faster ! faster ! J I did 
not realize then what was the matter But 
when I saw the ship's carpenter come to the 
brig's side with a sharp-pointed boat-hook 
in his hand, it suddenly struck me what was 
wrong. I glanced over my shoulder as I 
swam, and could see a dark, black object on 

for my feelings, The men threw two ropes 
from the ship's side, about a tot apart, and 
still they cried, 'Faster! Faster!' I did 
my best, as you may imagine. I reached 
the ship, seized hold of the two :opes, 
and they fairly jerked me out of the 
water and on to the deck as if I had 
been a fish at the end of a line. At the 
same time the carpenter made a jab 
down into the water with the sharp-pointed 
boat-hook, and just as the shark — for it 
was a huge shark that I saw over my 
shoulder — just as the shark turned over 
to make a snap at me, he got the boat- 


the surface of the water, coming along like a 
streak of lightning, I knew what it was, 
and I did not want any more urging. I 
made two or three desperate strokes* and 
went ahead at a great pace. I was a good 
swimmer in those days, and could swim as 
few can ; but I did not go along fast enough 

hook fair into his jaw. The men told 
me afterwards that the shark did not miss 
me by more than two inches — which was 
a near enough shave. The moral of the 
yam is that I have never jumped over- 
board from that day to this, a period of more 
than thirty years." 


by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 

Born 1839, 

Ffnrn a PAofa, bv) 

AGE 23. 

MapnU, Regent SL 

CHARLES, K.B., received his 
education at University College, 
Ixmdon. He joined the Bar at the 
Inner Temple in January, 1862, 
He then joined the Western Circuit and 

From a Photo* far] 

AGE 99. / iiltfU ASamdkr*. 


became one of its leaders. In February, 
1877, he took oilk, and became a Bencher 
of his Inn in January, t88o. From 1878 
to 1SS7 he was Recorder of Bath, and 
Chancellor of Southwell Diocese, and Com- 
missary of the Dean and Chapter of West- 

JVotoi a 1'hnta. by] 

AGE 3&, 

[miwU ft Fry, 

minster from 1884-87. In September of the 
latter year he was appointed Judge of the 
High Court, and was also knighted. He 
married, in 1886, Rachel Christian, daughter 
of the late Thomas Duncan Newton, Esq, 


***» ©W^iftM fWWF** Birmt»ehm*u 




fVtm a PJkito. fcjrl 

ACuE T9. [ffilti.t jfcfMMiJjrt, fo*m 


Born 1846. 
eldest son of the late Dr. William 
Kennion, of Harrogate. Dr. 
Kennion was educated at Eton 
and Oriel, He was ordained priest when 
curate of Doncaster under Dr + Pigou, by the 

Pernio Photo, bv HW* *t Sawnrtm, Oxford. 

Archbishop of York, in 1870. In 187 1 he 
was chosen as Diocesan Inspector of Schools 
in the Diocese of York ; and in 1873 he was 
appointed by the Crown, on the nomination of 
Mr. Gladstone, to the populous parish of St. 
Paul's, Hull In 1876 he became vicar of All 

Frrtm a I'htttn. hy .UtarJ Satta, Bradford, 

Saints, Bradford. In 1882 the see of Ade- 
hide, South Australia, became vacant by the 
resignation of Dr. Short, and Dr + Kennion was 
appointed as his successor Two years ago he 
was offered and accepted the see of Bath and 
Wells, to which he was unanimously elected. 

£ s-T* wi. ■ j-h, Oxford. 



/■VuTfUi FiiAn. iy iflin*:*,' Wnlktr t Regml StneL 




K?m nl 



J. P. 

Born 1833. 
^ and principal proprietor of the 
I" Daily Telegraphy is the son of the 
late Mr. J. M. Levy, who, in con- 
junction with Mr, Lionel I-awson, 
bought and brought to a successful issue the 
journal which has the " largest circulation of 
any daily paper in the world," The young 
man left college in time to take part in the 

From a] 

AiiE 16. 


earliest work of the newspaper and the print- 
ing press — an apprenticeship to which he 
faithfully served* Everybody is familiar with 
the great and successful funds which have 


been so ably conducted by the Daily Tele- 
graph, and which have alleviated the sufferings 
of many thousands* The remarkable enter- 
prise shown in connection with the late Mr 
George Smith's discoveries (now in the British 
Museum), with Mr. H. M. Stanley's travels 
in Africa, and other landmarks in the career 

ACE 37, 

ECnriwn Dmirinff. 

of this great "daily," will cause the name of 
Law son to be for ever inseparable from one 
of the most prosperous journalistic enterprises 
of this century. 

iii^ . 1 


I -*5S 1 








leading lady at the 
A del phi , where 
she created the 
rSk of the heroine 
in "The White 
Rose/' Her great 
opportunity came, 
however, when 
she was selected 
for Rosamond in 
"Sowing the 
Wind/' and later 
on succeeded 
Mrs. Patrick 
Campbell as 
Paula Tanqutray 
t the St 

From a Photo. &v L&& * Whitfeld. 

MONG the debutantes of the 
last three or four years no one 
has come to the front innre 
rapidly than Miss Evelyn 
Millard. Her first appearance* 
practical purposes, was with Miss Sarah 
1 89 1, Among other parts, she 
Romeo and Juliet," and Hero in 
In the same year. 

AGE 13, 

Fmtn d 

Photo, by 

Arthur Ktng 

for all 

Thorne in June, 
played Juliet in 
"Much Ado About Nothing. 

Mr, Thomas Thome engaged her as leading Inly, 
when she played Clara Douglas in " Money," and 
Miss Tomboy in * l Fanny Goodwill" and "Joseph's 
Sweetheart." While playing at The Grand, Isling- 
ton, Messrs. Gatti saw her, and just nine 
months after her first part, she found herself 

AGE 4 

From a. Fhifo fy O. AUrUve* Hamw*r*mifr~ 


ACB I^. 

From d 
Photo, hs 

mm a rhota, bw AifrM MIu. 


The Romance of the Museums. 

By William G, FitzGerald. 

T may be taken as a general 
rule that museums art? fearfully 
dull places, and their officials 
miracles of courtesy* And 
yet if, instead of miserable 
little labels, the articles on 
show only had their whole histories writ 
large, that he who ran might read, what an 
earnest pilgrimage would commence towards 
grimy Bloomsbury and airy South Kensing- 
ton ! 

For example, take that far-famed specimen 
of Greek art known as the Portland Vase, 
which is shown in the accompanying illustra- 
tion. At present it is deposited in the Gold 
Ornament Room (it is entirely of glass) in 
the British Museum ; of course, it has a glass 
case, and it rests on a nice pad of crimson 
plush. As usual, the official information 
deals almost exclusively with the apocryphal 
subjects depicted on the vase — " Peleus and 
Thetis on Mount 
Pelion/ 1 and the like 
recondite allusions. 
The Portland Vase 
is Qj^in, high and 
2i^in. in circumfer- 
ence. The material 
is a kind of glass — an 
imitation of onyx, the 
ground being a rich 
transparent dark 
amethyst colour, with 
snowy figures in lias- 
relief of truly exquisite 
workmanship. \\ c tig- 
wood compared these 
figures with the finest 
cameos, and asserted 
that the vase was the 
labour of many years. 
It was found in a 
marble sarcophagus 
inside a sepulchral 
chamber under the 
Monte del Grano, 
about 2j^ miles from 
Home, on the road 
to Frascati. It was 
deposited there a.d. 

235 ; and the vase is supposed to be the 
urn that contained the ashes of the Roman 
Emperor, Alexander Severus, and his mother, 
Julia Mamms, It was unearthed by order 
of Pope Barberini (Urban VIII.), and it was 
for more than two centuries the principal 
ornament of the Barberini Palace, 

In 1786 the then Duke of Portland pur- 
chased the vase at a sale for 1,029 guineas : 
and he deposited it in the British Museum in 
18 10, when it was carefully placed under a 
glass case on an octagonal table in the middle 
of an ante-room near the Hamiltonian Collec- 

At a quarter to four 011 February 7th, 
1845, a number of visitors were going round 
the Hamiltonian Room and its ante-chamber, 
in much the same limp, aimless way that 
people perform their museum peregrinations 
to this day, when they heard a fearful crash. 
Now, when we consider that even a subdued 
" chuckle is somehow 
vastly increased in 
volume amid the 
sombre galleries at 
Bloomsbury, we 
realize in some slight 
degree the appalling 
effect of that crash, 

the moment the 
attendants hastened 
to the spot, they be- 
held the priceless 
Portland Vase scat- 
tered in a hundred 
fragments over the 
floor. The doors were 
immediately closed ; 
and Mr. Hawkins, 
the superintendent, 
at once questioned 
the horrified persons 
in the apartments > 
none of whom at- 
tempted to escape, 
lest the odium of 
the fell deed should 
descend upon him. 
All gave satisfactory 
replies, until the de- 

ii! k mfcTLAN" vase, IviUpilc^i 




ltnquent himself was taxed, when he at once 
cried : Sl Alone I did it ! " 

He was immediately given into custody, 
and on being brought before Mr, Jardine, at 
Bow Street Police Station, he, too, fell from 
his high estate by alleging " delirium, arising 
from habitual intemperance" — clearly a 
euphemism for a state of uproarious 
drunkenness. The culprit was William Loyd, 
a theatrical scene painter of Dublin, but 
then living at a coffee-house in IxingAcre. 
Of course, the 
outrage was a 
mere bid for 
evanescent no- 
toriety, an act of 
vandalism ad cap- 
tandnm vulgis y 
with not even the 
redeeming fea- 
ture of having 
been committed 
in order to draw 
attention to the 
perennial wrongs 
of Ireland. 

All this was 
bad enough, but 
even worse re- 
mained behind, 
for, amazing as it 
may seem, the 
law was almost 
powerless in the 
matter. The Wil- 
ful Damage Act 
directed the pay 
ment of ^5, or 
two months' im- 
prisonment, for 
deliberate dam- 
age done to pro- 
perty under the 
value of £1 ; 
from which it is 
evident that those 
who piloted the 
Act through Par- 
liament had an idea that no human being 
would venture to damage property above that 
value. Be this as it may, the magistrate was 
driven to the evasion of directing Loyd to 
pay j£§ — the nominal value of the glass case 
under which the vase stood. All the miscreant 
possessed, however, was ninepence ; conse- 
quently he was haled off forthwith to Tothill 
Fields Prison, where his truculent disposition 
manifested itself from time to time in violent 
assaults on the turnkeys. 

■ Google 



This extraordinary story has a curious 
sequel. On February 13th, a letter was 
received by Mr. Jardine at Bow Street, 
inclosing ^£5, which the anonymous donor 
requested might go in payment of Loyd's 
fine. Subsequently the governor of the gaol 
received the authority of the magistrate to 
set the prisoner at liberty. One result of 
this remarkable affair was that the Govern- 
ment passed a special Act to protect works of 
art from the recurrence of outrages of this 


In one corner 
of the room in 
which the Port- 
land Vase is at 
present exhibited 
hangs a curious 
drawing, in a 
plain oak frame, 
of the shattered 
fragments just as 
they lay on the 
floor immediately 
after the outrage. 
Perhaps I should 
have mentioned 
that the missile 
Loyd used was 
a curious little 
piece of sculpture 
that was exhi- 
bited close by 
the vase itself, 
The drawing of 
the pieces, which 
is reproduced 
here, bears the 
following inscrip- 
tion in faded tnk 
at the top left- 
hand corner : 
"Destroyed Feb. 
7 th, 1845 ; re- 
stored Sept. 10th, 
1845, — ! o h n 
Doubleday> Be- 
low is written : " Drawn from the fragments 
byT, Hosmer Shepherd, 1845," In the centre 
is seen the bottom of the vase entire. It is 
a bust of Paris, and in this particular picture 
the hero seems to be contemplating with sad- 
ness and dismay the havoc that has been 
wrought around him. 

In the next illustration we see an extra- 
ordinary musical instrument, made to the 
order of that crafty and ferocious potentate, 
Tippoo Sult^riqirwier to amuse his Court, 


"OKI I.AM) VA>t. 

6 4 



The idea is that the Tiger of India is 
at the throat of Great Britain, typified 
by an Indian officer in the uniform of 
the last century. From what I gather, 
this unique mechanical instrument was 
brought out into Tippoo's courtyard, 
and one of his attendants turned a 
handle, whereupon the prostrate man 
shrieked horribly and raised and let 
fall his arms spasmodically, while 
the tiger emitted fearsome, realistic 
growls. The growling, by the way, 
was produced by two short stop 
diapason pipes of half a tone in- 
terval. One side of the tiger opens, 
displaying a row of ivory keys and 
four rows of pipes* This Royal toy passed 
into the possession of the East India 
Company,, and was transferred to the South 
Kensington Museum in 1880, together with 
the rest of the collection belonging to the 
same powerful and 
wealthy corporation. 
As illustrating the 
ignorance that pre- 
vails concerning the 
contents of our great 
museums, I may 
mention that not 
long ago a veteran 
Anglo- Indian wrote 
to the papers in- 
quiring anxiously 
after " Tippoo's 
Tiger," and sug- 
gesting that this in- 
teresting relic 

should be ^dis- 
covered and taken 
care of,'* The gen- 
tleman also said 
that he remembered 
seeing it in the 
offices of the East 
India Company, in 
Leadenhall Street. 
The Assistant- 
Director of the Mus- 
eum, Mr.O Purdon 
Clarke, replied to 
the letter, informing 
all whom it might 
concern, that this 
curious instrument 
was deposited at 
South Kensington; 
and, furthermore, 
that while the me- 
chanism was being 
repaired, it was found that the whole had 
been made either in London or in Paris. 

In the next illustration that figures in this 
article, we see a section of one of the largest 
of twenty-six immense ropes of human hair 


which are used in the building operations of 
Japanese temples. The section seen is no 
less than 6in. in diameter, and is at present 
deposited in a wall-case, in the second 
northern gallery at the British Museum. It 


MAN I1A1K KL)l'ii* COIN TKSJLt f :lt Li I JJ.-1H.1.T Ul'DbH IM £>. 




seems that these ropes have been contributed 
by devout Buddhists since the year 1SS0; 
and the extraordinary photographic reproduc- 
tion just below the section shows a huge 
pile of these extraordinary donations, now in 
the possession of the Chief Priest of the 
Hori-Gwan-ji temple at Kioto. Here, truly, 
we have a record in the way of queer 
contributions towards church funds. It 
would seem that the devout Buddhist un- 
covers himself in a very literal sense, out of 
respect for the shrine of his Omnipotent 

Not a little of the romance of the museums 
lies in the life-stories of the benefactors of 
these institutions, By way of illustration, I 
may mention the truly magnificent collection 
of art furniture and the like bequeathed to 
the South Kensington Museum by the whilom 
workhouse ap- 
prentice, Mr. 
John Jones. This 
extraordinary in- 
dividual became 
a tailor in Water* 
loo Place, with 
such ultimate 
success that he 
died in 1882 
worth ,£400,000. 
For the most 
part, Mr, Jones 
lived at No, 95, 
Piccadilly— quite 
a little house, but 
literally [jacked 
from top to bot- 
tom with costly 
furniture. Mar- 
ble and jasper 
columns, bearing 
vases worth small 
fortunes, stood on 
every second step of the staircase, and the 
back dining-room was only 7ft. sin. wide ; yet 
competent judges have pronounced the Jones 
Collection at the South Kensington Museum 
to be worth, at the very least, JJ2 50*000. 

According to his valet, who was also some- 
thing of a queer character in his way, Mr. 
Jones would go round the sale-rooms, ask the 
price of an article he fancied, and then write 
out his cheque forthwith. This strange man 
never married, and had no near relatives. 
The sole hobby of his life was* bis collection, 
and in order to convey to my readers some 
notion of his enthusiasm in this direction, I 
mention the following incident : On one 
occasion Mr. Jones purchased an egg-shaped 

VoLxL-9. F _,0 


Gros Bleu Sevres vase, with medallions of 
Cupid and Psyche, at lx>rd Pembroke's sale, 
the price being 3,000 guineas. After it had 
been delivered to the princely collector, 
doubts were thrown upon its genuineness on 
account of the darkness of the colour. Mr. 
Jones immediately sent it off by a special 
messenger to the manufactory at S&vres, 
fully insuring the precious vase beforehand, 
and taking many other precautions that in- 
volved an incredible amount of trouble and 
expense. He was, however, assured thai the 
vase was perfectly genuine, and his repre- 
sentative was actually shown the original 
mould, together with all the documents 
relating to this particular piece. 

Not the least important item in the 
Jones Collection is the toilet table that 
formerly belonged to Marie Antoinette. 

This is shown in 
the accompany- 
ing illustration. 
It was purchased 
by Mr. Jones for 
^"6,000, some- 
where back in the 
fifties ; and since 
it has been in 
the Museum 
several copies 
have been made, 
the most note- 
worthy of which 
was one made by 
Messrs. (iillow 
and Co., the well- 
known uphol- 
sterers, for an 
American mil- 
lionaire. I gather 
that Messrs, 
Gi How's men 

paid many visits 
to the toilet table, and made a large number 
of drawings of the various parts. 

Shortly after the Jones Collection was 
deposited in the South Kensington Museum, 
the French Government sent over a com- 
mittee of experts, accompanied by photo- 
graphers, to inspect the various pieces. At 
the head of the committee was M* William- 
son, the Principal of the Garde Meubles 
Nationale at Paris. These gentlemen re- 
cognised many items in the collection as the 
former property of the Garde Meubles, and 
actually pointed out to the authorities at 
South Kensington the makers 1 marks and 
stamps, which are generally carefully con- 
cealed, and certainly had not been noticed 




in this country. Perhaps I should explain 
that the Garde Meubles is the name of the 
institution which has the care of the furniture 
of the public buildings of France, 

M, Williamson and his committee stopped 
short before the large armoire, shown in the 
next picture ; this is, perhaps, the most inn- 


portant piece of furniture in the whole collec- 
tion. It is, also, supposed to be the grandest 
and most unique piece of furniture in the 
whole world ; and although Mr. Jones picked 
it up cheaply, so to spenk, at a sale that took 
place in a mansion in Carlton House Terrace, 
the armoire could be sold to-morrow for 10,000 
guineas. It was pro- 
iKibly designed by 
Berain, and exe- 
cuted by Boule, for 
Louis XIV., about 
the end of the 17 th 
century. One of 
the distinguished 
visitors before re- 
ferred to looked 
wistfully at this 

magnificent piece of artistic furniture, and 
declared, half seriously, half playfully, that if 
France ever went to war with England for any- 
thing, it would be on account of that Louis 
Quatorze armoire. M, Williamson's visiting 
committee, I should mention, took back 
with them large photographs of almost 
everything in the Jones Collection. 
They generously conceded that Mr* 
Jones, and therefore the Museum, 
had an incontestable right to these 
works of art, two revolutions of 
decent proportions having taken 
place in Paris since they had been 
in the possession of the French. 

I have now to record the mira- 
culous recovery of a man through 
whose body the pin or pivot passed 
which is reproduced here. This 
ugly -looking weapon was shown to 
me by Professor Stewart at the Royal 
College of Surgeons, and it is de- 
posited in the Museum there, to- 
gether with a coloured picture of the 
sufferer himself in two positions. 
His name, hy the way, was John 
Taylor, and the accident happened 
while he was on board the brig 
Jam % of Scarborough, then lying in 
the London Docks, One of Taylor's 
mates was guiding the pivot of the 
try -sail mast into the main boom 
when the tackle gave way. The 
pivot instantly slipped from the 
man's hand and shot through the 
air point downward s, striking Taylor 
above the heart, passing out lower 
down his back, and then embedding 
itself in the deck. The unfortunate 
sailor was carried at once to the 
London Hospital, and in five months 
he recovered so completely as to be able to 
take little walks in the hospital premises. 
Ultimately, Taylor returned to his duties as a 
seaman, notwithstanding that this terrible 
spike, 15m. in lengthy and weighing 71b, or 
81b. T had passed obliquely through his body, 
Close by this spike, in the same Museum, 



IMhl v, :CH A iiAI^Pf p r FSODY. 



6 7 

is seen the shaft of a carriage, which also 
passed through the body of a gentleman who 
happened to be standing near the vehicle 
when the horse plunged violently forward, 
with the result that the off-shaft perforated 
his side under the left arm and came out 
from under the right arm, pinning the 
un fortunate man to the stable-door. And 
yet he walked upstairs to bed ; his wounds 
were practically healed at the end of nine 
weeks, and he lived nearly eleven years after 
this terrible 

An even more 
ext r.a ordinary 
story attaches to 
the next illustra- 
tion, which de- 
picts the clothes 
of a man struck 
by lightning, This 
curious relic, or, 
rather, collection 
of relics, is ar- 
tistically hung in 
a glass case in 
the Museum pre- 
sided over by my 
amiable and inde- 
fatigable friend, 
P rof esso r S t e wa r t * 
The story is as 
follows : At half- 
past four on June 
8th, 1878, James 
Orman and three 
other men were 
at work near 
Snave, in Rom- 
ney Marsh, about 
eight miles from 
Ashford. The 
men were en- 
gaged in lopping 
willows, when the 
violence of the 
rain compelled 
them to take 
shelter under a 
hedge- The storm increased, however, so they 
retreated to a shed close by for more effi- 
cient protection. Three of the men at once 
entered, but the last, James Orman, remained 
by the willow close to the window of the 
shed. Scarcely were the three men inside 
when a blaze of lightning rushed in at the 
door, across the shed, and out of the window, 
which it blew before it into the field. Pre- 
sently the three men hurried out of the shed t 

clotiik-Sj watch, iicxrrs,, etc, of a 

and noticed that the tree under which Orman 
had taken shelter was partly stripped of its 
bark. Their companion's boots stood el use 
to the foot of the tree, while the man himself 
lay almost perfectly naked on his back a few 
yards further on, calling for help. When they 
left him a few moments previously he was com- 
pletely and strongly clad in a cotton shirt, 
cotton jacket, flannel vest, and cotton trousers 
secured at the waist and knee with leather 
straps and buckles* Orman also wore a pair 

of new, stout, hob- 
nailed boots, a 
hat and a watch 
and chain- Now, 
however, posi- 
tively all he had 
on him was part 
of the left arm pf 
his flannel vest 
The field was 
strewn for 22 yds. 
with fragments of 
the unfortunate 
man's clothing. 

Without doubt, 
this is the most 
eccentric vagary 
recorded of the 
mysterious elec- 
tric fluid* Orman 
was thrown 
down ; his eye- 
brows were burnt 
off, his whiskers 
and beard much 
scorched, his 
chest covered 
with superficial 
burns, and he 
had sustained a 
broken leg. His 
clothes, as I have 
already said, were 
distributed all 
over the field ; 
his strong boots 
were torn from his 
feet, and his watch 
had a hole burnt right through it, as though 
a soldering-iron had been used. The watch- 
chain was almost completely destroyed, only 
a few fused links remaining. These, together 
with some fused coins found close by, are 
deposited in a box beneath the clothes in the 

According to Orman ? s account of the 
affair, he first felt a violent blow 011 the chest 
and should0picffrfiPl fttffift 5 involved in blind* 




ing ]ight s and hurled into the air, He said 
he never lost consciousness ; but when at the 
hospital he seemed very deaf and stupid* He 
was discharged perfectly cured twenty weeks 
after the occurrence. The scientific explana- 
tion of this amazing escape is that the wet 
condition of the man's clothing increased its 
power of conduction, and, in this way, saved 
his life. The electric current passed down 
outside Oman's body, causing everywhere a 
sudden production of steam, which, by its 
expansion, tore the clothing off and hurled it 
away. It is a curious fact that w T here the 
flannel touched the man's skin the burns 
were merely superficial, whereas in those 
parts touched by the cotton trousers they 
were very much deeper. 

Also under Professor Stewart's care in the 
Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons is 
the oldest mummy in the world, which is 


shown in the accompanying illustration. 
According to Professor Flinders Petri e, this 
mummy belonged to the 4th Egyptian 
Dynasty, and is upwards of 6,000 years of 
age. I gather that this individual was a high 
functionary in the ancient Egyptian Court, 
and his body was preserved by methods not 
then generally used. Professor Petrie him- 
self took this mummy from a tomb at Medum, 
in Egypt. "After some preliminary steps, ft 
declared Professor Stewart, in describing for 
me the preparation of the mummy, "his 
body was probably imbued with spices, and 
then covered with a layer of resin, most 
likely derived from the Cedars of Lebanon, 
after which the features were painted to 
represent life," The mummy arrived at the 

Museum in 1895, and Professors Flinders 
Petrie and Stewart commenced their exami- 
nation of it a month or two after its reception, 
" We took it out into the courtyard," 
remarked Professor Stewart to me, "and 
there commenced to unwrap it. The 
mummy was extremely dry and fragile, and 
from it arose a fine pungent dust that was 
extremely irritating. I found that the brain 
remained, while the body itself was stuffed 
with handfuls of ancient cloth. It was 
wrapped in a gauze-like texture, which I 
at first took to be papyrus ; and it was 
quite by accident that I looked at a 
piece of this texture under the microscope, 
when I found it to be linen. I at once sus- 
pended operations on the mummy, and 
made my way to Bond Street, where I 
entered a linen warehouse and asked for 
some of the finest linen thai it was possible to 

buy. The assistant 
brought me a 
piece, assuring me, 
in a confidential 
whisper, that its 
like was rarely sold, 
and that when a 
buyer did come 
along, he or she 
was among the 
highest and weal- 
thiest in the land. 
I hurried back 
with this linen, and 
compared it under 
the microscope 
with the ancient 
Egyptian texture, 
woven more than 
6, 000 years ago." 

I reproduce here 
Professor Stewart's 
microscopic photograph of the two linens, the 
finer being the ancient Egyptian fabric, and 
the coarser the very best linen that Belfast or 
Bond Street can produce. 

No one would think of seeking for romance 
amid the pre-historir skeletons that haunt the 
long gallery at the Natural History Museum, 
which is under the supervision of Dr. Wood- 
ward. And yet romance is certainly there, 
First of all let me show the skull and tusks of 
a mammoth- -a particularly prominent feature 
of the gallery before mentioned* Now let 
me tell the story : As long ago as 1844, Sir 
Antonio Brady* an enthusiastic geologist and 
scientist, had his attention drawn to the great 
deposits of brick earth occupying the valley 
of the River Rodiu^ at Ilford, near his 






< V 



own residence. Some idea may be formed 
of the pateontological wealth of this deposit 
when I mention that Sir Antonio Brady ob- 
tained from it in this one locality over a 
thousand specimens of mammalian remains. 
One of the first of this gentleman's finds 
was made while workmen were digging 
clay for the manufacture of bricks for 
the Great Eastern Railway, then in 
course of construction* The owner of 
the field, a Mr* Thomas Curtis, invited 
quite a crowd of scientific gentlemen 
down to Ilford to view the bones that 
had turned up. All these were exhumed 
with much care, some of them being 
deposited subsequently in the Museum 
at the Royal College of Surgeons. 

When notice of a fossil " find " was 
brought to Sir Antonio Brady, he would 
first of all reward the finder, and 
in many cases paid large sums in order 
that a whole gang of labourers might 
remain idle while the precious bones 
or tusks were being carefully removed 
from the earth. These same bones 
and tusks, by the way, were, as a rule, 
very fragile, and had to be immediately 
treated with liquid glue, wet paper, 
and plaster of Paris. As a matter of 
fact, this enthusiastic scientist would 
deal as tenderly with fossil remains as 
though he were an expert surgeon 
handling broken human limbs. 

One day in 1864, a messenger was 
despatched in hot haste to Sir Antonio 
Brady with news of an important find 
in the Uphall brickfield, at Ilford, 

owned by a Mr William Hill. On arriving 
at the spot, Sir Antonio found that the 
workmen had come upon an immense 
skull and tusk about 15ft. below the surface 
of the earth. The cranium itself was 
nearly entire, the upper portion only of the 
left side having received a blow from a pick 
or a spade when the workmen first came upon 
it It is probable that the entire skeleton 
was there, for, before news of it had got 
abroad, the workmen, knowing nothing of 
the Elepkas prim#gemu$i had broken up the 
bones they had come upon week after week 
and carried them off in bagfuls to an old 
bone shop, where they were promptly ex- 
changed for coppers, which were of far more 
value to the finders than all the skeletons in 
the Natural History Museum. 

When they came upon the tusks, however, 
the overseer interfered, feeling sure that his 
men had come upon a big thing in more 
ways than one. It was entirely owing to the 
skill and judgment of Sir Antonio Rrady and 
the experts from the Natural History Museum 
that this mammoth's head was removed from 
the matrix entire, and brought away in safety* 
The right tusk, together with a portion of its 
socket, had evidently become detached, for 


SKULL ANU TMlfttiUp'flhtJ 'jffcMiJRD MAMMOTH, 




it was found upon the same level in the pit, 
but nearly 20ft away from the cranium to 
which it belonged. Of course, the whole 
specimen received prompt attention, and it 
was thoroughly drenched with a solution of 
glue in hot water. One of the tusks alone is 
estimated to have absorbed no less than 
three gallons of this solution. The tusks 
measure 8ft Sin. on the outside curve, from 
the point to the Insertion in the socket, the 
length held within the socket being about 
1 Sin. The circumference of the tusk at one 
foot from the socket is 26111. By the side of 
this important specimen in the Natural 
History Museum are photographs of the 
entire skeleton of the mammoth, as seen in 
the St. Peters- 
burg Mus- 

The latter 
skeleton, too, 
has a singu- 
larly interest- 
ing story. It 
was discover- 
eil by a Tun- 
isian chief 
in the sum- 
mer of 1799, 
half buried in 
the frozen 
soil and ice 
at the mouth 
of the River 
Lena in Si- 
beria. When 

the gigantic beast was entirely freed from 
the ice, in 1804* the chief cut off its horns 
and exchanged them with a merchant for 
goods to the value of sixty roubles, or in 
English money, j£j i8s. 4d.- the reward of 
five years 1 watching and waiting. Two years 
later Adams heard of the skeleton, and 
traced out the spot where it lay- He then 
sent the remains to St Petersburg, a dis- 
tance of 11,000 versts, or 7,330 miles. The 
missing tusks turned up later on, and the 
skeleton was built up in the St. Petersburg 

The curious part of this story is that Pro- 
fessor Maskelyne, who examined this mam- 
moth skeleton very carefully when in St. 
Petersburg^ in 1865, gave his opinion that 
the tusks did not behtr* to the skull. In any 
case, the authorities at the Natural History 
Museum state that the tusks have been 
wrongly fixed. The Russian authorities, on 
the other hand, said that they are right and 
that our own scientists are simply libelling 

Digitized by GoOgK" 


the unfortunate mammoth in setting up its 
tusks as seen in our picture* 

In the next illustration we see a piece 
of brown jasper, originally shaped like a 
spectacle case, and concerning which an 
extraordinary incident is related. This stone 
was picked up outside Cairo by a native don- 
key driver, whose ass had become violently 
obstreperous- It seems the native threw 
the stone with all his force at poor Neddy, 
with the result that part of it broke away, 
revealing on both sections a portrait of 
Chaucer ! 

I learn that this piece of jasper was 
brought to the British Museum before 
registers were made, and therefore the story 

does n o t 
figure in any 
of the official 
publications ; 
however, any- 
one may see 
the "Chaucer 
Stone " who 
cares to visit 
the amazingly 
well kept, but 
withal dismal, 
mineral gal- 
lery at the 
Natural His- 
tory Museum 
presided over 
by Mr. Flet- 
cher, himself 
a most cour- 
teous and affable gentleman, 

Here is an immense meteorite, weighing 
3)4 tons t which was discovered at Cran- 
bourne, near Melbourne, in 1854. It was 
found by a Mr. Bruce, of Ch isle hurst, who, 
having seen a piece of meteoric iron in the 
fire-place of a squatter, asked the man if 
other bits of that kind were to be met with 
in the neighbourhood- Mr. Bruce was then 
conducted to a spot in the adjoining parish 
of Sherwood, where an irregular spur 
of iron projected from the ground ; and 
he then and there purchased the supposed 
meteorite for a sovereign with the inten- 
tion of presenting it to the British 
Museum, Later on t when the huge mass 
was dug out of the ground, and it was 
found to be, without exception, the largest 
meteorite in the world, large sums of money 
were offered Mr. Bruce for the splendid 
block, but he declined all offers, it being his 
fixed intention to make over the meteorite 
to the British \fuseum- 




Mr. Bruce at once arranged for the convey- 
ing of the meteorite to England ; whereupon 
such a tremendous commotion was raised 
throughout the Colony, that it was actually 
seriously suggested to fit out a ship that 
might pursue Mr. Br lice's steamer, and bring 
back the great meteorite to its native soil 
In other words, the authorities of the Mel- 
bourne Museum were determined to secure 
the unique specimen. On inquiring how 
everybody concerned happened, to know that 
it was a meteorite, I learned that native iron 
is extremely rare 
in the district. 

This meteorite 
was shown in the 
exhibition of 1861 
together with a 
second — the Abel 
Meteorite — which 
was found not 
very far away 
from it. The Mel- 
bourne Museum, 
however, con- 
tinued to clamour 
childishly for 
its meteorite, 
and suggested 
that the mass 

should be cut in halves, one section to go back 
to Australia and the other to be retained in 
England, The authorities of the Natural 
History Museum, however, settled matters 
by purchasing the Abel Meteorite, and send- 
ing it back to Melbourne- 
There are, of course, many other meteor- 
ites in the same gallery, and many of them 
have interesting histories ; unfortunately, 
however, the things themselves are not 
picturesque. One, the Mhow Meteorite, 
fell upon and killed a native in 1827 in the 

North-West Pro- 
vinces of India. 
Another was 
found at I ma lac 
in Chili, It lay 
in a ravine, half 
buried in the 
sand, and had to 
be conveyed 150 
miles in a cart 
to the coasL This 
meteorite weighs 
45olb M and now 
rests on the right- 
hand side of the 
one that was 
found near Mel- 


by Google 

Original from 


ERHAPS Sark is not exactly a 
beau - ideal place for a man 
with a "game" leg, so when 
my chum, Lock, who is also 
my doctor, called upon me to 
fulfil a long-standing engage- 
ment to spend a fortnight with him in that 
delightful island, I simply laughed at the 
absurdity of the idea. Lock, however, would 
not hear of my backing out of our agree- 
ment on that score, pointing out to me 
that, knowing the island so well as he did, 
he could pilot me to all the places of 
interest by paths which, he assured me, I 
should find perfectly practicable and easy, 
in spite of my stiff knee. 

"Besides," he added, "your knee is a 
great deal better than you will allow, and a 
certain amount of exercise will do it all the 
good in the world. Put yourself in my 
hands, and III guarantee, not only that you 
won't break your precious neck, but that you 
will return all the better for the trip in every 

These words, backed up as they were by 
my wife, settled the question, and we started 
off early in August, Lock having previously 
secured rooms at the Dixcart Hotel. 

I will not bore you with an account of the 
horrors of the crossing from Southampton to 
Guernsey ; suffice it to say that, whatever 
anticipation I had of deriving profit to my 

Digitized by L^OQ^ I C 

understanding, or benefit to my health, from 
my holiday, I did not commence to reap the 
harvest that night 

By the time we reached Sark, however, I 
had sufficiently recovered to admire the 
quaint old landing pier, and to wonder how 
on earth they were going to get me over the 
perpendicular cliffs, which apparently sur- 
rounded the little bay, for I could not then see 
the curious tunnel pierced through the living 
rock, which is, so to speak, Sark's front door 

It is not my purpose to write a guide to 
Sark, pleasant as that task would be. Those 
who have been there know its beauties or 
some of them, for though hut a tiny little 
baby of an island, it wants a lot of knowing. 
Even Lock, who has been there year after 
year, at all seasons and in all weathers, 
declares he finds something fresh and new 
each time he goes. As for those who have 
not been, why, the sooner they go the 
better ! 

Lock was as good as his word, and, under 
his able guidance, I saw more of the island 
in the fortnight I spent there than if I had 
been a whole year by myself. My knee, too, 
soon got much stronger, and I was able to 
clamber about in a way which surprised me, 
and though, of course, I could not compete 
with Lock, whom I found was an expert rock 
climber, I had the satisfaction of feeling I was 
no longer an incumbrance. 




He took me to all the lions of the place : 
The Pot> Venus's Bath, the Boutiques Caves, 
and the cave under the Hog's Back, through 
which we had to swim with lighted candles 
fixed in our caps, which, of course, went 
out, leaving us swimming about, in utter 
darkness, in the very bowels of the earth. 
I was delighted with everything, and soon 
filled my sketch-book. But of all the 
wonders of the place, not one fascinated 
me half so much as the " Souffleur " at 
Port (iorey. I had never seen anything of 
the kind before, and, no matter where else 
we had been, I always managed to get Lock 
to take me there in time to see it blow* 

Imagine yourself seated upon a ridge of 
rock, jutting far out to sea, with huge detached 
boulders on either side, splitting the rapidly 
rising tide into innumerable seething, curling 
currents, hissing and breaking into foam in 
every possible direction. On the right, a high 
perpendicular cliff of granite, almost blocking 
the entrance of a tortuous channel, causes 
the water there to be comparatively calm ; 
while, on the left, the breakers leap 
and chase each other over the half- 
submerged rocks in their frantic race 
to the shore, the cliff of which, at 
this particular spot, has been hol- 
lowed out by thousands of years of 
buffeting into a substantial cave. 
Lock had taken me into this cave at 
low water, pointing out to me that 
the interior vault was considerably 
higher than the semi-circular arch- 
like entrance. As the tide rapidly 
rises, first the floor of the cave is 
covered, and soon, the water rising 
higher and higher, only the top of 
the arch is visible. Then, as wave 
after wave rushes madly forward, 
even this disappears, and a low, 
angry growl is heard issuing from 
the spot, as though some mighty 
antediluvian monster were hurling 
back defiance to the relentless foe. 
Another wave or two, and the growl 
is succeeded by a hissing noise, first 
low, then rising in rapid crescendo, 
and a huge column of water is shot 
out some forty, fifty, or sixty feet. 
As each succeeding wave dashes up, 
the same impressive phenomenon is 
repeated, the "Souffleur" pulsating 
like a mighty horizontal geyser, till 
the water has entirely filled the cave 
and forced out all the air. It was an 
awful si^ht, and one that filled my 
brain weird fancies as 1 gazed 

VoL *L— 10i 

on the boiling waters below ; yet, fascinated 
though I was, and drawn to the spot day 
after day, almost independently of will, I 
doubt if I should have dared to venture there 
alone, lest, in the delirium of the moment, I 
should have lost my nerve and hurled myself 
into the seething caldron* 

At length our last day in Sark arrived, and 
I was to return to Guernsey by the evening 
boat. I should, by rights, have gone a day 
sooner, as I had received an urgent letter of 
recall from my wife, saying that my brother 
had unexpectedly come home from New 
Zealand, but Lock would not hear of my 
going until I had seen the Gouliot Caves. 

"It would be simply ridiculous," he said, 
"to leave without seeing the gem of the 

"If that be so/' I replied, "why in the 
world haven't you taken me there before?" 

"For the simple reason that they can only 
be properly explored during one of the 
exceptionally low spring tides, called the 
1 Grandes Manfes/ which only occur a few 

Original from' 



times in the year. I have all along settled 
in my own mind to take you there to-morrow, 
One day can't possibly make any difference 
to you or your brother, and as it will be low 
water at 1.20 p.m., I will give instructions for 
your things to be taken on board, and you 
can go, after seeing the caves, direct to the 
boat without bothering to return to the 

Adopting this plan, the following day we 
took our lunch, and accompanied by Gyp, 
the fox-terrier belonging to the hotel, set out 
in good time for our destination. 

The exquisite beauties of the Gouliot 
Caves more than fulfilled my anticipations, 
and I revelled in them to my heart's content, 
for, for some unaccountable reason, we 
had them entirely to 
ourselves. Passing 
out of the main cave 
through a narrow, 
dark passage, in 
which there is always 
a considerable poof 
of water left by the 
tide, through which 
we had to wade, and 
turning sharply to the 
right, we suddenly 
found ourselves in the 
Tubularia Cave. 
This proved to be a 
spacious cavern of 
irregular shape, whose 
walls were literally 
covered with ane- 
mones and zoophytes 
of every conceivable 
colour, the whole 
being lit up by a 
brilliant beam of sun- 
shine which entered 
the cave through a 
narrow passage, cleft 
through the living 
rock. Ho w this 
chimney-like window 
was formed I could 
not tell, but it almost 
seemed as though 
N n t u r e h ad pu rpo se I y 
pierced it in order to 
show off, to the best 
advantage, the marvel 

of beauty, which would have otherwise lain 
concealed, for, though another entrance to the 
cave opened out to the sea, it was too low to 
admit direct sunlight. Long T stood lost in 
amazement and admiration at the fairy-like 

scene, and then Lock reminding me that our 
time was short, we continued our explora- 
tions- To do so we had to wade through a 
second limpid pool, which shone like glass in 
the sunlight, enabling us to see the countless 
gems of life, both animal and vegetable, 
which it contained. 

We visited one or two other caves of minor 
importance, when we were startled by an 
agonizing howl from Gyp. Scrambling back 
as quickly as possible, we found the poor dog 
plunging and struggling in the pool I have 
described in the Tubularia Cave. At first I 
was considerably puzzled to know the cause 
of Gyp's discomfiture, till Lock announced, 
to my astonishment, that the unfortunate 
brute was struggling with an octopus ! Such 

SI hn. GGL1NG u J 1 JJ AN (k l-,i\ : 

was the fact ; ana it was with the greatest 
difficulty, and after much time, that we suc- 
ceeded in freeing the poor little fellow from 
his 1 nemy^djpro^ecled at once to retrace 





Hurrying down the dark passage, which 
was already some inches deep in water, we 
plunged boldly into the pool, but found, to 
our horror, we were getting out of our depth, 
and, though after frantic exertions Lock 
managed to force himself against the tide 
as far as the further end of the passage, 
it was only to find that the water had 
already risen above the low entrance, 
entirely cutting off our retreat Quick as 
thought Lock shouted to me to turn back. 
It was well I 
did so, for we 
were only just 
in time to 
plunge under 
the rapidly dis- 
appearing arch* 
way into the 
Cave. The 
few minutes we 
had left it were 
sufficient to 
effect a won- 
drouschange in 
its appearance, 
and we found 
the water a 
couple of feet 
deep, where be- 
fore we had 
been standing 
high and dry. 
Every moment 
it was percept- 
ibly rising, and 
the tide, rush- 
ing in like a 
rni 11-st ream, 
both from the 
passage we had 
returned byand 
the sea entr- 
ance, was turn- 
ing the cave 
into a veritable 
Small time was 

there to discuss our predicament, so telling 
me to snatch up Gyp and follow him, Lock 
scrambled up the side of the cave to the 
chimney-like cleft. It was a toilsome and 
arduous climb, with the angry waters chasing 
us, and with nothing to hold on to except 
the slimy zoophytes ; but it was a matter 
of life or death, and, though we lacerated 
our fingers terribly, we at length reached 
the bottom of the chimney, where we could 


rest in comparative safety to discuss further 

" Thank goodness ! " I said, after recover- 
ing my breath, "we're safe at last, though 
I suppose we must wait here till the tide 
goes down* The worst of it is I shall miss 
the steamer, but that can't be helped," 

"It certainly can't," Lock replied, "but 
don't be too cocksure we're out of the wood 

11 What do you mean : the water surely 

can't reach us 
here? Even 
if it did, we've 
only to climb 
higher up, and 
possess our 
souls with pati- 
ence, unless it's 
possible to get 
right up this 
opening and 
then scale the 

quite impos- 
sible, for the 
cliff above is 
absolutely per- 
p e n d i c u I a r. 
No, our only 
chance is, as 
you say, to wait 
till the tide goes 
down, and hope 
for the best." 

"Hope for 
the best ! You 
surely don't 
mean to say 
there is any 
chance of our 
not being able 
to get Away a t 
low water?" 

" Indeed, I 
do ; these ab- 
normal tides 
are very peculiar, and, though the last was 
exceptionally low, it is more than likely that 
the next will not be low enough for us to 
escape, especially as I noticed, just before 
coming here, an ominous change in the 

"Then do you mean to say we've got to 
wait here till we starve to death ? " 

"Well, the tide may Tall sufficiently for us 
to gqt]^c^ T - f ^^ (? p|^ i {.jif not » 

7 6 


And here Lock shrugged his shoulders as 
being more expressive than words as to the 
hopelessness of our position. 

For a couple of hours or more we sat in 
almost unbroken silence, by which time the 
water had risen to where we were, and 
compelled us to move higher up. Having 
once shifted my position* I determined to 
climb the whole length of the flue, and found 
that though, after the first ioft, or 12ft, the 
passage became much more contracted, and 
slippery from its smoothness, I could work 
my way up with comparative ease, as the 
angle of inclination could not have been 
more than about thirty degrees. When 
I at length reached the end, I found, 
as Lock had predicted, that the face of the 
cliff was absolutely perpendicular, without, 
so far as I could see, the smallest projection 
or crevice to hold on to. Impressed with 
the impossibility of escape from that direc- 
tion, except with outside help, I returned to 
Lock, and found that the water had already 
invaded the lower part of our refuge, so thajt 
we could no longer see into the cave. By 
this time the sun must have been nearly 
setting, though a warm glow still penetrated 
down the flue, enabling us to see the 
surroundings of our constricted prison, 
and 1 casually drew Lock's attention 
to the smoothness of the passage just 
above us. He gave a ghastly grin as 
he replied :• — 

41 1 wondered whether you had 
noticed it." 

11 What on earth do you mean? Is 
any fresh horror in store for us ? " 

" Listen, and perhaps you will be 
able to guess ! " 

As he ceased speaking I heard a 
strange gurgling sound, apparently 
proceeding from the Tubularia Cave, 
and some large air bubbles, which 
were floating on the surface of the 
water, burst into spray. A moment or 
two of comparative silence, and th^n 
again I heard the same mysterious 
sound, though louder than before. 
Again and again the phenomenon 
was repeated, e.tch time in a more 
intensified form, and the horrible 
truth was forced upon my unwilling 
under sta n d 1 n g. I Ve n >ere in the thru ttk 
of a u Soujffwr" which had just com- 
menced to hhntK 

Crouching down behind the only 
slight projection we could find, we 
awaited our coming fate. We were, 
at least, saved the horror of suspense, « THE wind 

for barely five minutes had elapsed ere a still 
louder growl w T as heard, and a short column of 
water deluged us from head to foot We had 
barely time to recover our breath, when another 
still larger column shot over us, nearly tearing 
poor Gyp from Lock's arms. Frantically we 
clung to the bed of the rock, as ton after ton of 
water was belched forth and swept past us with 
deafening roars, and, had it not been for the 
slight protection afforded us by the projecting 
rock, we should have been blown like feathers 
into the sea, or drowned like rats in a hole. 

When matters were at a crisis, I noticed 
Lock hurriedly scribbling something in his 
pocket-book, the leaf of which he tore out and 
placed in his tobacco-pouch, which he tied 
up tightly with string, and then fastened 
securely to Gyp's collar, 

u It's our only chance," he shouted, as the 
14 Souffleur J ' once more commenced to blow, 
and he threw the poor little fellow right into 
the teeth of the furiously-advancing waters. 
I seemed to see, rather than to hear, poor 
Gyp's despairing cry, as the wind and water 
caught him and, whirling him round, shot 
him through the funnel, like a bullet from a 
rifle, into the seething sea beyond* 

■I I '.| 1 1 I a I 





The tide was now nearly at its height, 
and the flir in the Tubularia Cave getting 
exhausted, so that each time the '* Souffleur " 
blew, we were thankful to notice a perceptible 
diminution in its violence. At length, to 
our intense relief, it ceased altogether, and, 
though the tide still rose, so that we were 
forced into quite the upper part of the chim- 
ney, we had still a few feet's grace when, at 
last, it began to fall. 

It is unnecessary to describe the weary 
hours that followed as, shivering and hungry, 
we sat there watching the deep shadows cast 
by the moonlight playing among the rocks, 
Impressive and weird as the scene was, we 
were in no humour to admire it Lock, 
however, took the opportunity of explaining, 
by means of a diagram {a transcript of which 
I append), the reason why this particular 
£i Souffleur IJ could only blow during one of 
these exceptionally high tides. (See diagram.) 

hour, hoping that the tide might yet fall 
lower, but by that time there was unmistak- 
able evidence that it was again beginning to 
rise. With sinking hearts we retraced our 
steps, when a faint, but thrice welcome, 
shout broke upon our ears ; and, upon our 
scrambling up to the outer entrance of the 
funnel, wc were rejoiced by the sight of a 
body of men on the rocks below. 

Barely a quarter of an hour — though it 
seemed longer to us— elapsed ere a stout 
rope was lowered from the cliff above, and 
our rescue accomplished, when we learned 
that poor little tiyp, who had probably at 
first been taken far out to sea, was found, 
more dead than alive, by a boatman near the 
Eperquerie* He carried him at once to the 
hotel, when the landlord immediately 
organized a rescue party, though he told me 
he had small hopes of finding either of us 


At length, about 2 a.m,, the time of low 
water approached, and we cautiously de- 
scended into the cave, but, alas ! Lock's fears 
were only too true, for, though he lowered 
himself into the water, it was but to find that 
all chance of escape in that direction was 
completely cut off. We waited fully half an 

Thus ended the most remarkable adventure 

I have ever taken part in, and I venture to 
affirm, without much fear of contradiction, 
that no other living man, Lock alone 
excepted, has ever experienced the sensation 
of being in the blow-hole of an active 

II Souffleur;' 

by Google 

Original from 


Bv Stack pool E. O'Dell. 

T \CE the time of Lavater, 
every feature of the human 
fact: has been made a matter 
of careful study by men of 
world-wide reputation, with the 
object of discovering if, and 
how far, it might be indicative of character. 
Among other writers on the subject may be 
mentioned Paolo Mantegazza, director of the 
National Museum of Anthropology at Flor- 
ence, and Professor Cesare Lombroso 3 the 
celebrated criminologist. "A crooked nose,'* 
says Lombroso, "was found by us in 25 per 
cent of criminals, and a flat nose was noted 
in 40 per cent of normals, 12 per cent of 
homicides, and 20 per cent, of thieves/' 
' It is necessary that we should preface our 
remarks on notable noses by stating that 
where the nose may be indicative of pecu- 
liarities of character, it is only where certain 
other physical conditions harmonize with it 
Thus it does not always indicate character. 
And some of the other conditions being far 
more intimately connected with character are 
the only indices that necessarily and invariably 
accord with it. To give an example : a large 
nose of the "Roman" or " Wellingtonian ?) 
type usually accompanies a strong desire to 
exercise power and authority ; but if thers be 
not at least an average amount of brain, this 
desire is unlikely to be manifested successfully 
in any direction calling for the exercise of 
much mental ability. Hut not only the abso- 
lute amount of brain has to be considered. 
The contour of it, as denoting the size or its 
various parts, is a consideration of equal im- 
portance. The nose (or any other facial 
feature) is an index of variable value. Never- 
theless, it may be said that as a rule the noses 
of men and women of strung diameter and 
ability are more or less strongly defined 

Noses, it may be remarked, differ very 
much — from that of the negro to the classic 
types, Speaking generally, the noses of 
Europeans, North American Indians, and 
Polynesians are long ; those of negroes and 
Mongolians are short and less strongly 
marked The same line of division separates 
these races judged from the standpoint of 
character — the short-nosed races being intel- 
lectually infantile, and those with longer 
noses more mature in intelligence and 
dignity. The nose is by no means an 
unimportant indication of temperament, 
generally agreeing in its sharpness or broad- 
ness with the strength or weakness of the 
lungs, and thereby with the power of the 
physical system to supply nutrition to the 

Wellington.— "A Wellington nose" is a 
phrase almost accepted as a synonym for 
"power." And the connection is often 
correct. Yet we have seen many men out- 
side TattersalTs, and else- 
where inside sandwich- 
boards, possessing such 
noses. Probably their love 
for power and independ- 
ence has been greater than 
their abilities, and they have 
failed to adapt themselves 
to the conditions whereby 
power and independence may be gained, and 
thus their failure. Had they Wellingtonian 
heads, they might have done Wellingtonian 

Napoleon I. — Another 
large nose, but of a different 
contour. Besides strength, it 
indicates marvellous activity 
of the observing powers. 
The character is qif&ft? ac- 

cunMfl I VfiRStiawJf ttKHteA N| 



This nose accompanies a degree of egotism far 
beyond the average. Noses of the M large " 
class, it may be said, generally indicate, if not 
egotism, that self-confi- 
dence and assurance neces- 
sary to success. 

Nelson, — Large again, 
not so pointed as Napo- 
leon's, but accompanied by 
a better- balanced mind, less 
egotistical, intensely hon- 
ourable, patriotic, and 
liberty -loving, and capable of a sublime 
courage in defence of whatever might be con- 
sidered right. It is one of 
the "strong" noses* denoting 
strength in love as in battle. 
Frederick the Great, 
— This nose is accompanied 
by a character as egotistical 
as Napoleon's. Not as with 
Nelson, country and honour 
would be secondary con- 
siderations. In benefiting 
himself the man may have benefited his coun- 
try ; but if, on the other hand, he thought he 
< ould benefit himself 
farther by swamping his 
country, he would have 
done it 

Cardinal Newman* 
— Here we have another 
warrior's nose. His 
battle was with himself 
It is a cogitating, philo- 
sophical nose ; the cogi- 
tations would be of an introspective nature. 
The powers of perception were slow, and the 
imaginative powers inclined to look backward 
rather than forward. Venera- 
tion was strong, giving a 
reverence for authority and 
ceremony, and interfering 
somewhat, perhaps, with a 
useful career. 


have not left the warriors yet. 
This is another strong-look- 
ing nose. Being accompanied by necessary 
brain conditions and temperament, it may be 
said to indicate energy of a concentrated 
nature, destructive and constructive ; solidity, 
patience, endurance, and stubborn tenacity. 
This endurance, it may be noted, is an 
accompaniment of each of the strongly-made 
noses considered above. 

Lord Randolph Churchill. — This is a 
different sort of nose. It has been called 
the 4i pugnacious " nose- It is often acconv 

panted by strong self- 
esteem and com- 
hativeness ; a cha- 
racter taking pleasure 
in opposition, and 
manifesting little con- 
tinuity and stability 
except when opposed. 
Lack of continuity 
would prevent the deep and extended com- 
prehension of subjects. 

The Duke of Devonshire. — Somehow, 
we do not think the Duke 
has lived up to his nose- 
Hut it scarcely har- 
monizes with his head, 
which indicates a fair 
amount of mental 
strength requiring more 
than ordinary circum- 
stances to rouse it into 
activity \ some haughti- 
ness, self-will, and a tendency to be disap- 
pointed with things in general, and personal 
life in particular There is a lack of ambition, 
William Pitt. — This 
nose differs much from 
those of present-day states- 
men. It reminds us of 
the war-horse that we are 
told is ever ready for the 
battle, It accompanies 
here a very highly-strung 
nervous system, great 
clearness of thought, lofty ideals — though 
lacking somewhat in the " Roman ?J per- 
sistency required to reach them. 

Her Majesty the 
Queen. — It is not out 
of place to include Her 
Majesty with the states- 
men. She has the nose 
of her fathers* And she 
has much of what was 
best in their characters. 
She has strength, resolu- 
tion, firmness, and al- 
most an instinctive authority* But she is well- 
balanced, with a due, and indeed high, sensi- 
tiveness to honour, virtue, and social affection. 
M a r t i n Luther. — 
This is a somewhat doubt- 
ful form of nose. It may 
seem to indicate strength, 
but there is little, if any, 
sign of the kind of strength. 
The broad and massive 
nftbfepnfliat it belongs 1 to, 
Y QHAtiHSftft full accord 



with the character, denoting force, the force of 
a thunderbolt, solidity in thought, word, and 
action. Noses of this kind, which we find 
somewhat modified in Goethe and Beethoven 
(^fr.)> °ften accompany great sympathy and 
la rge-h ea it eel n es s. 

, Father Ignatius,— 

Compare this with 
Luther's. It seems to 
indicate a character with- 
out a chance of error. 
You cannot escape its ex- 
ji^^^^j pressiveness. 1 ntensely 

critical, occupied with 
in in ut ire, eager to analyze, 
especially to analyze human nature and 
appreciative of the power to be gained by 
the help of this knowledge. Yet, withal, 
spiritual Could not play second to anyone. 
Much happiness derived 
from contemplating his own 

Milton. — Glancing 
above at the warriors, we 
must call this a warlike 
nose. In the character we 
find natural penetration 
into the motives of action, 
individual and national. Capable of strong 
indignation and of the concentration of 
thought characteristic of 
this fe roup. 

Dante. — This has been 
described, perhaps accu- 
rately, as the "melan- 
cholic iJ nose. The head 
certainly denotes strong 
imaginative powers com- 
bined with a lack of hope, 
resulting in a pessimistic tendency. Concen- 
tration and patience would seem to be again 
denoted, enabling the imagi- 
native power to be practi- 
cally applied. But it could 
never have produced u Para- 
dise Regained." 

Go kth e. —This differs 
much from Dante's. Sym- 
pathy we have already 
mentioned as accompanying 
such a no.e. The whole temperament is 
loving, poetic, eloquent in 
its indications. Love and 
hope are chief ingredients 
of this character. 

Voltaire, — Not so, 
however, with Voltaire. 
Here we have the bitter, 
satirical critic — yet with 

sterling abilities. A sad absence of sympathy, 
except for himself. Concentration again, and 
keen powers of analysis And 

Dickens,— This nose 
is more like Goethe's than 
like that of Voltaire, Synv 
pathy, love and hope, 
strong social feelings, much 
bonourablcness, and all- 
round abilities, especially 
good in the perceptive direction, constitute 
the mind. 

Mr. J. M. Barrie. — This nose is often 
accompanied by a rather 
hypercritical, severe, Calvin- 
istic character. But such is 
not Mr, Barriers. His head, 
however, eminently agrees 
with his close delineation of 
character, his strong sympa- 
thies, and subtle humour. 
The nose here is one in- 
dication of the predominating nervous tem- 
perament — that is all we can say for it, 

Gujda. — An uncommon form of nose, 

^^ m accompanied by an uncom- 

Mk mon character— a combina- 

tion of strength, imagination, 
sympathy, self-assertion, 
hope, caution, aggressiveness, 
love of harmony, and many 
i^_ 1 other strangely contradictory 

qualities. These charac- 
teristics will hardly contribute 
to happiness, 

Miss Charlotte Yonge. — This is a very 
evenly-balanced, almost 
expressionless, nose. 
The whole tempera- 
ment, however, is well- 
balanced, and so are the 
mental faculties. Moral 
philosophy made popu- 
lar requires such a 
mind for its production. 
The domestic feelings 

are strong. language and the general memory 
are good. 
The Duke 


York.— This is a some- 
what average nose. It is 
accompanied in this case 
by much agreeableness 
—enough perhaps to be 
at times prejudicial to 
personal interests. There 
is, however, a fair amount 
of dignity and a desire 
£EDrise. The Duke 




a concentrated 

has j*ood powers of observation. Did circum- 
stances favour, he might do much, especially 
in practical directions, where enterprise, ac- 
tivity, fearlessness, combined with modesty 
rather than authoritative- 
ness, would be called for 
S r k Frederick 
Leighton, — This kind 
of nose often indicates 
ability to strive, to 
quietly persevere, to con- 
quer difficulties. It is 
a combination of the 
" Roman " and u Assyrian," though less 
strongly marked than either, 

^ir John Muj.ajs, — This nose differs much 
from Leighton's* 
Such a nose seldom 
accompanies a cha- 
racter either egotis- 
tical or aggressive, or 
too much inclined to 
work for the sake of 
results* It is accom- 
panied in this case by 
strong benevolent 
feelings, and affections of 
though un effusive nature, 

Mr. Swindurne.— This nose is almost 
always accompanied by the nervous tempera- 

.^_ 1 mi nt, and often indicates a 

Hg^ j^^M tendency towards dissatis 

faction, idealizing, and un- 

Hr controllable emotion. With 

it T the senses are generally 

highly active, Mr. Swin- 

\ burne has comparatively 

HH greater width than length 

of brain, the width in front, 

accompanied by the nervous temperament, 

corresponding to his poetical power. His 

character is not likely to be productive of 


Kekthovkx. -This nose, like Luther's, 
seems to denote strength, but indefinitely. 
The head indicates 
much of the spiritual 
and the imaginative. 
The temperament, of 
which the nose is 
partly indicative, is 
the vital, denoting 
strong recuperative 
powers, which are very 
necessary to the sup- 
plying of the nervous force expended in 
musical composition. 

M 02 art, — Here the vital temperament is 
far weaker. Two characteristics often de- 

noted by this form of nose 
are, the desire to excel and 
the desire to acquire. When 
the financial abilities are 
good, the tendency is towards 
acquiring money. Similar to 
the noses portrayed in the 
beginning of this article and, 
in some respects^ to that of 
Milton, Mozart's nose seems to harmoni/e with 
his strong concentration and perseverance, 

M. Paderewski, -This 
riose is unlike either of the 
two preceding ones. Its type 
is usually accompanied by 
emotion rather than philo- 
sophy. This excess of emo- 
tion may ^ive much influence 
over other people, especially 
of a similarly emotional cha- 
racter, but it is not conducive to content- 

M. Kiioi.YkU in: Reszke.^ -This form of 
nose is also often indicative of an emotional 
character, but being accompanied by the 

vital rather than the 

with such a nose, 

Madame Pattl- This 
the same class as the last, 
denote in general the 
same tendency towards 
enjoyment, sociability, 
viva city j and romance. 
Madame I*atti + s cha- 
racter includes strong 
artistic tastes, ^ood 
power of mimicry, and a 
slight tendency to be ex- 
travagant and passionate. 

Mis> Winifred Emery 

c ill 


nervous temperament, 
the emotions will be 
better balanced, less 
prejudicial to health 
and happiness. The 
tendency here is to 
enjoy life. Strong 
linguistic ability may 
often be expected 
and it is present in this 

nose belongs to 
It would seem to 


VoLwi,— «. 

cs often dt 


This is a clear- 
well- defined nose, 
indicates an active, 
nervous temperament. 
It is accompanied by 
much ambition, self- 
confidence, and imita- 
tive power. There is, 
however, no deficiency 




Mr, Wjllard. — This nose is accompanied 
by power of a plodding nature. The 
ambition will be to merit 
rather than to gain praise. 
Will endeavour to be very 
sure before taking an im- 
portant step. Reserved and 
dignified, and possessing 
much of the secretiveness 
necessary to efficient 
acting. Hopeful* and not 
liable to extremes* 

Socrates- — This formation has not always 
the brain of a Socrates behind it ; still, when 
the brain is thcre ? this 
nose may be taken as 
a minor indication of a 
questioning tendency, 
combats ven ess, and 
talking ability. Many 
great orators have had 
a somewhat similar 
nose. It accompanies 
a warm temperament, producing a great flow 
of blood to the brain, 

Plato,— This nose differs much from that 
of Socrates. It is intel- 
lectual rather than emo- 
tional ; the abilities are 
dispassionate in their 
action. The " Roman" 
type seems to tend more 
towards action ; this 
towards thought alone. In 
the character of its pos- 
sessor were clear perception of human nature, 
concentration, and much inventive power. 

Abnormal noses frequently set all canons 
at defiance by being hugely significant of 
just nothing at all. 

Early in the last century a man, Thomas 
Wedders (or, rather, Wad house), with a nose 
seven and a half inches long, was exhibited 
throughout Yorkshire, 

Thus, if noses were ever uniformly exact 
in representing the importance of the indi- 

vidual, this worthy ought to have amassed all 
the money in Thread needle Street and con- 
quered all Europe, for this prodigious nose of 
his was a compound of the acquisitive with 
the martial But either his chin was too weak 
or his brow too low, or Nature had so ex- 
hausted herself in the task of giving this 
prodigy a nose as to altogether forget to 
endow him with brains ; or, perhaps, the 
nose crowded out this latter commodity. At 


all events, we are told the Yorkshireman 
expired, nose and all^ as he had lived, in a 
condition of mind best described as idiocy the 
most abject 

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15. — EPILOGUE, 

by Google 

Original from 

Gleams from the Dark Continent. 

Bv Charles J, Mansford. 


IGHT, with h ea v y , velvet y 
clouds blotting out the stars, 
held sway over Kairouin, 
Kairoain the mysterious, 
Kairouin the sacred city of 
Mohammedan Africa, 
For five days we had wandered, practically 
unmolested through the city girded with its 
white, crenelated walls. True, we were con- 
stantly spat upon , called dogs and Koumis, 
and once the Moorish gamins had playfully 
pelted us with stones ; but these were matters 


of small moment, for they had their recom- 

Under the city wall, that night, we were 
reclining on esparto mats, drinking coffee, 
and listening to the unmusical strains of a 
Moorish guitar, played by a minstrel who was 
at once the dirtiest man and the most popular 
story-teller of Kairouin. 

Digitized by CjOOQ I C 

Our presence at the open-air caft, which 
was lit up by lanterns hung upon the 
city wall, was only tolerated because of a 
rumour which Hassan had sedulously put 
into circulation, It was, in effect, that we 
were travelling through Africa in search jf a 
plant said to be a specific for blindness. As 
ophthalmia is so distressingly common among 
those who frequent Kairouin, the "Roumi 
doctors ? " were allowed to rest at a little 
distance from the group of true believers 
gathered round the story-teller. 

"Tell us a story, O wise one,' 1 said a 
Bedouin, whose bronzed face 
was badly pitted with small- 
pox marks and whose pic- 
turesque attire was travel- 

41 Does the slave sing 
whose throat is dry and 
whose pitcher a camel has 
kicked ? " the story - teller 
asked. The Bedouin took 
the hint, and ordered the 
Moorish servant to bring a 
draught of legtni, the sap of 
the date-palm. 

" May your story not 
grow stale," said a Cadi, or 
magistrate, whose eyes im- 
patiently watched the story- 
teller as the latter sipped his 
beverage with the air of a 

u Don't be hurried by a 
Cadi who trims his beard 
and verdict by the size of 
the plaintiffs harem, n inter- 
posed a Moor. The Cadi 
glanced at the speaker 
angrily. The Moor had a 
handsome face of Jewish 
cast, black eyebrows, care- 
fully pointed beard, and 
eyes that flashed as one of 
the lanterns flung its beams 
across the man's face. He 
wore a crimson turban, yellow haik, brown 
rijubba and saffron slippers, and was evidently 
a man of wealth. When the Cadi glanced at 
him he smiled scornfully, and returned a stare 
that made the Cadi shift uncomfortably on 
his mat. 

u Sainted one," said the Cadi to the story- 
teller : li Soa of ■ the Prophet, thy slaves wait 




thy mellow words of wisdom." The story- 
teller, whose grizzled beard, dirty turban and 
baracan or robe, and the beads in his hand, 
showed that he aspired to be a saint as well, 
was moved by the Cadi's epithets. He 
finished his legmi, and stroked his beard 
thoughtfully as if for inspiration. 

" They are strange spiders that weave 
golden webs of imagination in thy brain," 
said the Moor, approvingly ; " but tell us 
something true, to-night, instead." He bent 
forward towards the story-teller, and indicated 
us by a gesture. "These Roumi doctors, 
Christian dogs, can't you tell us something 
about such — what about the Kairouin brigand? 
The Cadi here may never have heard all the 
story. He might like, when he has heard it, 
to go out single-handed and bring the fellow 
to justice. A fine sight it would be to see 
the Kairouin brigand kneeling in the square 
while that blunderer, Raschad, theexecutioner, 
hacked at his neck ! Five times he struck 
at a thief yesterday before the fellow's waggish 
head roHed on the stone flagging. Tell the 
Cadi the story — by my beard, the rascal shall 
hear it if I have to bind and gag him with 
my turban the while ! " 

Everyone stared at the Moor. To beard 
the Cadi like that ! 

" The Christian dog and infidel ! * cried 
the Cadi, ignoring the Moor's personal re- 
marks. " By all means tell us the story — I 
have only heard it in fragments. One hack 
or twenty, what does it matter so long as the 
head is struck off? Besides, the crowd likes 
an execution to be interesting. If ever this 
brigand fall into my hands, I promise a 
stirring sight" 

"What will you do, Cadi?" asked the 
Moor, derisively. 

"Tell Raschad, the executioner, to shut 
his eyes each time he strikes with the double- 
handed sword," calmly returned the Cadi. 

" If he were a true believer, I could wish 
him better luck," said the Bedouin ; " but 
this brigand is a Christian — Allah blacken 
his face at the Day of Judgment ! " 

The story-teller took a coin which the 
Moor held out to him. He struck a note on 
his guitar as if to get the sing-song pitch of 
his voice which he favoured, and then began 
his story : — 

" In the harem of Alipha Pasha, know, O 

true believers, were born two children, a son, 

the child of a Moorish Princess, and a 

daughter, the child of a Circassian slave. 

The son had his father's spirit, and beat every 

slave that roused his childish ire ; Fatima, 

the daughter, had her father's courage, her 

mother's beauty, her own gentle disposition, 
and was six years younger than her half- 

"One day, Alipha Pasha, who was in want 
of slaves, bade a dealer bring such wares as 
he had into the courtyard of his harem. The 
Pasha made no purchases : the slaves were 
not to his liking. This woman was ungainly, 
that one was too short, another showed all 
her teeth when she laughed. As to the 
eunuchs, they were too sleek to do aught but 
loll in the shade and consume the Pasha's 

" * Bring me a slave more to my liking, 
fellow, by sunset to-morrow, or thy head 
shall part company with thy shoulders ! ' 
cried the Pasha, 

"The trader took the hint When he 
came before the Pasha, next day, he brought 
three maidens, with eyes like the houris of 
Paradise, necks like swans, and taper fingers, 
henna tipped. With them the trader brought 
a boy, of the age of the Pasha's son, a white- 
faced child, son of some Christian dogs, from 
whom the child had been stolen in the by- 
ways of fair Tangier. The Pasha bought 
them all ; the girls for his harem, and the 
boy for his son to beat as an amusement." 

" Good ! " said the Cadi ; " what are 
infidels but beasts to be beaten ? " The rest 
of the little knot of listeners wagged approval 
with their beards. 

" Fatima, the Pasha's daughter, child of a 
slave woman, mark you, O true believers and 
inheritors of Paradise, dared one day to inter- 
fere when her free brother was beating this 
infidel spawn, so he beat her as well while 
the Pasha looked on approvingly, for Fatinra's 
mother was in Alipha Pasha's black books 
for having smiled at someone in the streets 
of Kairouin." 

"A sack and the sea for a woman who 
acts so. Women's smiles must never stray 
from their own lords," observed the Cadi, 
as if uttering judgment on a prisoner. 

"The Christian dog, who was twenty in 
years and forty in ingratitude to the good 
Pasha, wrenched the whip from the son's 
hand, and struck the illustrious Alipha Pasha 
himself a blow that left a livid mark 
upon his smitten face. The Pasha clapped 
his hands for help, and his eunuchs ran 
quickly into the courtyard. They held the 
Christian dog and beat him by turns till he 
fainted. Then the Pasha sent for the Cadi." 

" I came at once," said the Cadi ; " for 
know, O good and true followers of Allah 
and Mahomet His Prophet, when the Pasha 
could not manage the ungovernable Christian 





beast T he sent for me!" The Cadi drew 
himself up a couple of inches higher on his 
heels, as he proudly glanced at the Moor to 
see what the latter then thought of his 

- "The rest of the story I know," continued 
the Cadi; "it was the early part of it of 
which I was ignorant, for I asked the Pasha 
no questions." 

44 The Cadi sentenced the Christian dog to 
death," continued the story-teller, for the 
information of the others ; " but that night 
he escaped from the prison into which he 
was flung." 

"The Cadi was as stupid as a blind camel 
to let the rat get out of the trap that was 
shut upon it," said the Moor. 

" Fatima was at the bottom of it all/' said 
the discomfited Cadi ; " I sentenced her to 
death, afterwards, but the Pasha refused to 
allow it, and fined me the price of three 
slaves for letting the dog of an infidel 

"After his escape," continued the story- 
teller, li the slave took refuge in the hills, 
and, gathering a band of lawless followers, 
plundered every traveller who went his way* 
One night the bandits got into this very city 
of Kairouin, someone having treacherously 
admitted them by the Skinners' Gate. Next 
morning every bazaar of note was found to 
have been looted. The Pasha and his son 
were found slain in the harem courtyard 
among a heap of dead on both sides ; none 

by G.GOg!C 

of the women were 
molested save 
Fatima— the ban- 
dits carried her off 
to the Ousselat 
Hills, to become 
the infidel's willing 
bride I 

"The Sultan's 
troops have since 
swept down upon 
the outlaws and 
decimated them, 
but the Christian 
dog still lives ; he, 
with Fatima and 
the remnants of his 
band j still lurks 
somewhere in their 
mountain fastness. 
Who meets them 
may slay them — 
would to Allah 
someone would ! " 
" Cadi/' said the 
Moor, when the story-teller had ceased, 
" there is a chance for you to become illus- 
trious — all you have to do is to catch the 
brigand of Kairouin." 

" If once the way be found into the 
mountain fastness, I will go after the brigand, 
and surely he shall die/' averred the Cadi, 

" The Christian dog has a rather unpleasant 
way of hanging his would-be benefactors," 
laughed the Moor, drily, 

"By the Koran I care not. Let me but find 
a guide and I will go— and take the infidel 
single-handed," boasted the Cadi* 

"Cadi/' said the Moor, quietly, "you 
have sworn by the Koran: you dare not break 
your word and so lose your eternal happiness 
with the houris of Paradise, To-morrow, 
when the sun rises, I will meet you at the 
gate of the city. I have discovered the way 
to this outlawed dog's hiding-place — 1 will 
show it to you." 

"The brigand's doom is sealed, then," 
answered the Cadi ; " I will take enough men 
with me to root out the entire nest of rascals/' 
"Stay, Cadi," replied the Moor; "you 
threatened to take the brigand single-handed. 
If you draw back from your boast, the story- 
teller here will tell through the whole city of 
Kairouin that its illustrious Cadi is a still 
more illustrious liar/ 5 

The Cadi was beaten at the game of brag. 
He was silent a few minutes, then an- 
swered :— ^ . 

Original from 




" The Cadi's word is his bond — I will meet 
you at daybreak to-morrow at the gate ; the 
brigand's head shall roll from his shoulders 
within a week." 

" Or the Cadi's neck be dislocated," said 
the Moor. 

"Wait till I meet the brigand," said the 
Cadi, with a determined air. 

" Wait till the brigand meets you," laughed 
the Moor, as he rose and went away, walking 
slowly and thoughtfully into the night. 


Kairouin was filled with an excited throng. 
Every street and crooked alley, every bazaar 
and open space, had its crowd of gossiping 
Moors, talking and gesticulating wildly. As 
we walked towards one of these groups, 
curious to discover what had happened, a cry 
of " Infidels ! Infidels ! " was raised. The 
gamins began stone-throwing in real earnest, 
while six or seven picturesque but fanatic 
Moors gathered round us and pressed upon 
us in a way that boded no good. A religious 
mendicant howled imprecations on our heads, 
whose utterances the crowd took up. Two 
or three dangerous-looking knives were drawn, 
and there was every prospect of our becoming 
the victims of a foreign mob, when Hassan 
caught each of us by an arm and dragged us 
within the shop of a friendly Moor. Passing 
through his little- bazaar, we escaped into the 
next byway, and thence to where we were 
staying, without further molestation. 

" What has happened ? What was it all 
about ? " Denviers questioned Hassan. 

" The brigand is an infidel, and the sahibs 

are " Hassan was too courteous to 

finish the sentence. 

" The brigand ! " exclaimed Denviers. 
" Has anything been heard of the Cadi, who 
went five days ago to take him single- 

Hassan looked grave. " Sahib," he 
answered, " the brigand has captured the 
Cadi, and has sent a messenger into the 
city to demand a heavy ransom. Unless it 
is received in six days, the brigand declares 
he will hang the Cadi. The man who 
brought the message has asked that the 
ransom be carried back by someone from 
the city under his guidance. No one will 
undertake the task, and so the Cadi must be 

" You say the brigand is an Englishman," 
I remarked, thoughtfully. 

" The sahib perhaps is convinced of that, 
since he has met the brigand," replied 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

"Met him, Hassan?" 

"The Moor who promised to show the 
Cadi the way to the brigand's retreat was 
none other than the brigand himself in dis- 
guise ! " answered Hassan, to our astonish- 

" Then I will take the Cadi's ransom to 
him," I said, for, somehow, the Moor's 
amusing air had quite attracted me to him. 

" I will go instead," insisted Denviers. 

" The latchet of the sahibs' shoes is ready 
to take the Cadi's ransom, if they will permit 
him," said Hassan. 

" I think one of us would fare better with 
the brigand than a Moslem would," I 
answered, "and as I first suggested going, 
I mean to keep to my intention." 

Denviers demurred for some time, but, at 
last, Hassan was dispatched to the house of 
a wealthy Kairouini, who agreed to advance 
the Cadi's ransom. 

Next morning I met the brigand's messen- 
ger, the Kairouini handed me the required 
ransom, Denviers and Hassan bade me an 
anxious farewell, and I started for the Ousselat 
Hills, mounted, as was also the messenger, on 
a camel. 

Far in the distance rose the purple heights 
of the towering Ousselats; between us and 
the hills lay a sun-scorched plain. We 
followed a track for some time, then came 
upon a wide stretch of sand, over which the 
camels went, up and down, like a ship 
plunging into the trough of high-backed 
waves. Long before the day was over I was 
heartily wearied of the long, heaving motion 
of the camel. At sunset my new-found guide 
gave me a handful of dates and a drink from 
a water-skin ; we rested for a few hours, but 
were travelling on our way again before the 
sun had risen. 

On the third day after my departure from 
Kairouin, we came within near view of a 
spur of the hills. Pushing steadily on, I 
was surprised to see a number of armed men 
suddenly spring up from the desolate plain. 
These men, who were armed with modern 
rifles, were some twenty yards apart. The 
nearest instantly levelled his rifle at my head 
and curtly bade me dismount. Without 
demur I did so, as the camel knelt upon the 
burning sand. My guide dismounted also 
and led his camel ; his companion led mine. 
Halting at some distance from my destination, 
I submitted to be blindfolded. A cord was 
then adjusted from my wrists to the camels 
on either side of me, and in this fashion I 
walked or stumbled along over the sand for 
an hour or mcre.,j na | f ro 


9 2 


gold lace upon his coat I re- 
cognised this man instantly as the 
one who had sat listening with us 
to the story-teller in Kairouin, 
disguised as a Moor. 

**Who are you?" 
demanded the man on 
the left, speaking English, 
but with a strong foreign 
accent I subsequently 
learnt that his name was 
Leitner, and that 


I could tell by the frequent straining 
of the cord upon my wrists that our 
course was continuously eastward ; then the 
camels were taken away, and guided solely 
by the brigand's messenger, I wound up a 
steep ascent. I frequently heard footsteps 
as some of the brigand's followers passed 
me ; indeed, many a rude jest was bandied at 
my expense, from which I gathered it was 
conjectured I had been captured by my guide 
who was leading me to the brigand's retreat. 

I passed through a passage, as I supposed, 
lit up by flaring torches, the light of which 
fell upon the bandage across my eyes. My 
companion halted. 

"You will swear to say nothing in Kai- 
rouin of what you see here?" he demanded. 
I answered in the affirmative. I was then 
led forward again and found myself standing 
on a soft car] >et, while the sound of several 
people talking in low tones struck upon my 

The bandage was removed from my eyes, 
and I discovered myself facing three men, 
who sat at a table regarding me curiously. 
My guide advanced and whispered something 
to the one who sat on the left, a dark, 
military -looking man, some forty years of age, 
and dressed like a German officer, as were 
also his two companions, save that he who 
sat middle of the three had a profusion of 

he had recently 
taken service with 
the brigand, being 
responsible for 
the military train- 
ing of the latter's 

I explained 

how it came 

about that I had 

visited Kairouim 

"You speak 

plausibly/ 5 he 

retorted, coldly. 

"Of course, with 

your knowledge 

of Africa, you would have no difficulty in 

tracing for us the route by which you have 

travelled from Zanzibar, as you declare?" 

"I am quite equal to the task," I answered, 
curtly, for the tone of my interrogator's voice 
seemed to challenge the truth of my state- 
ment. He smiled, and rising, placed in my 
hand a wand of willow, 

" Most renowned traveller/' said Leitner, 
with biting sarcasm, *' the Continent you and 
your friend have crossed is well shown above 
your head. Be good enough to trace out 
your way for our satisfaction," 

I glanced upwards as Leitner waved his 
hand, To my surprise, I observed that the 
entire ceiling of the rock -cut room was 
occupied by a map of Africa, in relief, the 
material used to show the depressions and 
mountain heights being some kind of stucco, 
while the positions of river courses and lakes 
were indicated by means of silver-backed 
glass. The exactness of the work, its beauty, 
and the tediousnessof the labour, which must 
have taken years to accomplish, all astonished 
m •- 

" You are struck with admiration, friend ! " 
said the brigand. " It is, no doubt, excellent 
work ; it occupied its designer eight years. 
We generally make use of the talents of those 
whom fortune sends our way." 

II Point ^rajtj^jifi,j|oM:^-|you traversed," com- 




manded Leitner, taking little notice of his 
chiefs interruption. 

I obeyed the behest. I could not help 
noticing the glances which they gave each 
other as, with the willow wand, I traced out 
the route Denviers and I had taken. 

" Of all the extraordinary pieces of good 
luck ! " ejaculated Leitner, to his chief, 

" We must not let it slip away from us," 
said the brigand. He turned to me. 

" How came you to undertake the task of 
bearding the brigand of Kairouin on behalf 
of this miserable Cadi ? " he asked. * 

44 Your messenger may best explain that," 
I answered, quietly. 

" There was not a native dog of Kairouin 
who dared venture his skin by coming here, 
even to ransom a Cadi," said the fellow, 
pleased to have an opportunity to speak. 

u There is the Cadi's ransom," I said, 
placing a heavy and well-filled bag upon the 
table. Leitner passed it to the third of the 
trio who sat at the table. He unfastened 
the sealed cord about its neck and weighed 
the coins by means of a pair of scales stand- 
ing in a recess. 

" The money is full weight," he said, with 
evident reluctance. " I wish with all my 
heart it were not so. That rascally Cadi 
has been the cause of the death of a good 
many of our brave fellows. I am convinced 
he had a hand in bribing the man who led 
the Sultan's troops into our former strong- 
hold ; besides, to our definite knowledge, he 
has had five of our number executed within 
the last three months. It is folly to accept 
a ransom for such as he." 

" We must have money," said the brigand : 
" he is beggared by paying such a ransom as 

44 When your heel is on a snake's head, 
crush it out of shape," said Leitner. 

44 We must be just, however much it costs," 
said the brigand : 4 * the people of Kairouin 
are on our side, for they know that only their 
oppressors suffer at our hands." He nodded 
to my guide to approach : " Bring the Cadi," 
he said, shortly. 

A few minutes afterwards the Cadi was 
brought in, guarded by two armed men. A 
more crestfallen-looking* being than the Cadi, 
it would be impossible to imagine. His 
garments were torn and dirty, his turban 
awry, his beard thick with dust, his limbs 
shook as though ague had seized him. 

44 Cadi," said the brigand : 4i you have not 
taken me prisoner yet — how is that ? " 

The unfortunate Cadi declared that Allah 

had bowed his face to the dust for his pre- 
sumption in making such an idle threat 

" Cadi," asked the brigand, " have you any 
choice in the manner of your death ? Shall 
we behead you in the slow way which you 
so much favour, or shall we hang you ? " 

" Hang me, hang me ! " pleaded the Cadi, 
whose face had assumed an ashen hue, and 
whose teeth chattered audibly. 

44 It seems a pity to refuse such a boon," 
said leitner, drily, to his chief. 

44 Cadi, your ransom has been paid. Pro- 
mise that you will never hurt another of my 
followers, and you shall be set free," said the 
brigand, unexpectedly. 

The Cadi promised with alacrity. His joy 
was beyond expression. When he learnt that 
I had procured his ransom, he embraced me 
with a fervour that disconcerted me. 

" There," said I, thrusting him gently away, 
" you see even a Christian dog is good for 
something, occasionally." 

The brigand gave my guide some further 
message. The man was absent for a con 
siderable time. When he came back he 
gave the Cadi a small pack of dates and a 
skin of water ; then delivered some message 
to the chief brigand. 

" The Cadi will depart alone, and on foot," 
said the brigand to me ; 4 * you may have the 
pleasure of witnessing our farewell greeting 
to him." The other tiajp, who sat at the 
table, laughed. 

Accordingly, I was once more blind- 
folded and led away. When the bandage 
was again removed from my eyes, I saw that, 
besides the Cadi, the three brigands who had 
sat at the table, and a number of armed 
retainers, a double line of women and children, 
armed with willow wands, had been drawn 
up. Shouts of laughter greeted the Cadi as 
the bandage was removed from his eyes, and 
he saw what was in store for him. 

44 The women and children have come to 
wish you farewell, Cadi," said the brigand. 
44 Your way lies there ! " He pointed 
between the lines of the expectant women 
and children. 

The Cadi looked round, but saw no other 
way of escaping. He drew his breath, and 
then, carrying the provisions, which were 
scanty enough for his long journey, he ran 
the gauntlet. At last the Cadi had passed 
completely through the lines of his tormen- 
tors, who then pursued him over the sandy 
plain till they were tired, afterwards returning 
to their mountain retreat 

I was led back again, where I demanded 
my camel and to depart unmolested. . 




" You are my guest," said the brigand, 
courteously but firmly, . " Travellers with 
your knowledge and experience do not 
come our way every day. You shall see 
something more of our resources before 
you depart." 


My demur was coolly passed over ; before 
long I understood that the brigand was hold- 
ing me as his prisoner ! 

My host conducted me through the exten- 
sive encampment, which was situated in a 
spot protected with great natural defences. 
On three sides of the valley rose sharp 
mountain slopes, the fourth side opened 
funnel-shaped upon a long, winding pathway 
between precipitous rocks, leading to the 
plain far below. This entry was commanded 
by several guns ; inched, the place was fortified 
so thoroughly that it seemed to be impreg- 
nable. The disaster which had come upon 
the former encampment had had its lesson 
for the outlaws. 

Caves of various sizes, most of which were 
occupied as dwellings or store-places, ran 
into the rocky sides of the valley. In one of 
these orifices I had been examined ; in a 
second the Cadi had been held a prisoner ; a 
third, into which the brigand conducted me, 
was evidently the armoury, There, rifles of 
the most modern European pattern stood in 

Digitized by G* 

stacks, tiers of them rising one above the 
other, so that I calculated many thousands 
of rifles were there. Leading from the main 
room in which the rifles were, were several 
smaller orifices, In these latter were men, 
stripped to the waist, working at their own 

particular branch 
of gun - making. 
In a lajge cave 
apart from the 
rest the ammuni- 
tion was manu- 
factured. Passing 
through one of 
these caves I saw 
a prisoner chained 
to the wall. 

u Our discipline 
is naturally stem," 
said the brigand, 
as he saw me 
glance pityingly 
at the prisoner ; 
" men who carry 
their lives in their 
hands cannot 
af fo rd to be 
squeamish." I 
grew silent and 
fell to wondering 
what was the 
prisoner's offence. 
In the after- 
noon the main 
bo d y of the 
brigand's followers were put through some 
military evolutions in the valley, and I was 
permitted to be present. Leitner, the Ger- 
man officer, for such I heard he had been, 
displayed remarkable abilities in handling the 
men. The precision of their movements and 
the way they manoeuvred convinced me that 
the men were occasionally used for other 
purposes than mere defence. 

On the second day of my perforce stay 
with the brigand, a considerable quantity of 
arms and ammunition was placed upon 
camels after being concealed in unsuspecting 
bales of merchandise. While I was watching 
the men loading the camels, the brigand 
came up, 

" Do you understand us any better now ? " 
he asked, with a smile. 

11 1 understand this much," I retorted: 
" you have a vast organization of men 
engaged trafficking in arms. I can understand 
now, easily enough, how arms of European 
pattern get into Africa and are disposed of 
to the tribes, You are directly responsible 




for arming the natives who resist the influence 
of the various European spheres," 

" Yes, we arm unwilling slaves against 
their masters — is that a great crime ? w 

" About as bad as chaining a man to a wall 
till his hair turns grey," I retorted. 

14 Hark you," said the brigand, in no 
amiable tones, " my scheme is what it is* 
When injustice drives a man to the hills to 
die or herd with brutes, small wonder that he 
sides with and assists those who are oppressed 
and down-trodden. You can be of great 
service to the cause I am helping forward : 
you have made friends with a number of 
important chiefs and headmen. There is 
that Kwembi, for instance, the Englishman 
you mentioned who rules a most important 
tribe of Africans. Consider how you could 
help me to dispose of arms among those 
tribes with whom at present I have no deal- 
ings. I will treat you liberally enough — be 
sensible, and join us." 

I was startled by the proposal. 

" Not for worlds," I answered, promptly. 
" Nothing would ever induce me to do as 
you say." 

" We shall see," the brigand answered, 
with a flash of Are from his kindling eyes as 
he drew close together his brows. " Of one 
thing I am determined, you shall not go back 
to Kairouin again." 

" Do I understand that I am a prisoner ? " 
I asked. 

u You are singularly clear-headed," he said, 
raising his brows. 

44 What ransom do you demand ? " I 

44 It is not a case of ransom. » I accepted 
one for the Cadi because we are always in 
need of such a large sum as he paid, and in 
a year or two I mean to recapture him and 
hang him — there is really no hurry ; the Cadi 
is quite safe in my hands ; I have a hundred 
spies in Kairouin at least What I want 
from you is your promise to join us; until 
that is given you may consider yourself a 

44 But I will give no such promise ; after 
detaining me in this way, I can put no trust 
in anything you say. I will escape, I warn 
you, if a chance occur." 

44 Then you may trust what I say to the 
latter part of that remark," the brigand said, 
knitting his brows darkly again ; 44 for I swear 
if you are caught trying to escape, I will 
hang you on the spot." 

" If you catch me, you may," I said, 
walking off in dudgeon, for I felt my hardi- 
hood in venturing to take the Cadi's ransom 

Digitized by ^OOgle 

had been ill repaid. From that hour one 
thought was uppermost in my mind — how 
to escape from the brigand of Kairouin. 


I tried to bribe more than one of the 
brigand's followers to connive in my proposed 
attempts at escape, but the shrewd fellows 
took my bribes and then failed to assist 
me at the critical moment. Every hour I 
expected that El Hamam, the brigand, would 
hear of my doings and promptly hang me. 

Nothing occurred, however, and, finding it 
useless to approach the men directly on the 
subject which was uppermost in my mind, I 
ventured to mention the matter to one of the 
Moorish women who wandered freely about 
the camp. She sympathized with me, but 
declared that escape was well-nigh impossible; 
El Hamam, the brigand, was all eyes and 
ears. Still, I spoke of the matter several 
times to her ; indeed, it served as a convenient 
subject for converse whenever we met. 

One. day, as I stood idly dropping stones 
into a natural fountain which sprang up in 
the valley, I saw Fatima, for so I learnt the 
Moorish woman was named, approaching me. 
There was unusual animation in her dark 
eyes as she drew near me. 

44 Christian dog," Fatima said, but in no 
unkindly tone : 44 1 have thought of a way by 
which you may escape." 

44 Tell me how ! " I answered, excitedly. 

44 Not now, not here," she said, hurriedly, 
for several of the other women were approach- 
ing with envious glances. 44 To-night, while 
the camp sleeps, do thou be wakeful — I will 
send one who shall show thee the way to 

A minute after, the Moorish woman had 
left me and was joining heartily with the 
others in the epithets which it pleased them 
to hurl at me whenever they saw me and 
thought I could hear. 

When night came, I lay down on the mat 
which was spread in the cave I usually 
occupied, and waited anxiously for Fatima's 
promised visitor. Hour after hour wore 
wearily away without anything transpiring. 

It was about an hour before dawn, when, as 
I lay there half-asleep, I saw someone enter 
the cave and stoop over me. The light of a 
Moorish lantern flashed in my face, and, 
glancing up, my eyes rested upon the face of 
a young Moor. He motioned to me to 
follow him, and at once I did so. 

We passed out of the cave into another of 
considerable length. At the end of this latter 
my guide re*noved : f^ft-, my assistance, a 


9 6 


>PHP r 


piece of rock covering a hole. He disap- 
peared through the orifice and I quickly 
followed, replacing the stone from below. 

Our way lay along a narrow, excavated 
passage in the rock, which slanted upward. 
After we had proceeded in silence some con- 
siderable distance, my guide stopped to rest 
for a minute and to explain. 

u This passage is the scheme of Leitner," 
he said; "it leads to the powder magazine. 
The latter has a secret entry and exit ; follow 
me closely and watch each footstep you take." 
The Moor held the lantern so that its light 
fell upon the floor of the rock-hewn passage, 
and well it was he did so, for countless 
abysmal traps for unwary feet were visible at 
each few yards we advanced. 

More cautiously than ever my guide ad- 
vanced, until we came to where the rocky 
path had an abrupt end. The Moor held the 
lantern aloft 

"See," he whispered, as if afraid of the 
gloom through which the rays of the lantern 
struggled ; u there is the basket by which the 
powder is raised from the magazine. 1 ' I 
glanced up and saw a great wheel fixed in the 
rock above our heads ; a basket with a long 
rope was attached to it. 

At my guide's request , T lowered him into 
the depths below, the light from the lantern 

Digitized by W 

gleaming like a firefly 
in the dark, as the 
basket to which it 
was attached de- 
scended lower and 

A sudden jerk told 
me that the basket 
had reached its desti- 
nation, I let down 
the great length of 
rope ; my guide 
caught it from be- 
neath. Tin: basket 
was raised and 1 
entered it, to be 
lowered down, down, 
into the darkness 

As I stood once 
more upon the solid 
rock, I held up the 
lantern and glanced 
round* Barrels of 
powder were ranged 
in rows that seemed 
endless, while heaps 
of cartridges and 
cannon-shot showed 
from alcoves in the walls. 

" I will show you the way of evit," said my 
guide ; " then you must raise me by means 
of the basket to the passage above. Return- 
ing, you can easily make your escape. Allah 
bless you, and grant that you may become a 
Moslem and kiss the Holy Kaaba before you 
die. ?J 

I pressed his hand fervently as we went 
on towards the exit 1 sought, We had 
reached it, and w r ere digging our fingers into 
the crevices to remove a stone which blocked 
its small orifice, when I chanced to hear a 
slight sound. I looked up, and as I held up 
the lantern, its rays fell upon the brigand's 
face ! 

" El Hamam," I gasped, in astonishment. 
" You are lost ! n cried my guide. " Lost ! 

While I— I » 

" You are a traitor, and shall be hanged 
likewise I " answered the brigand. 

I glanced round to see if there were others 
to face. I could see no more. Before El 
Hamam suspected what I would do, I flung 
myself upon him, and we rolled upon the 
floor struggling for the mastery. He was 
strong beyond the strength of a man, it 
seemed to me ; his hands gripped me like 
the claws of a pair of steel pincers, so that 
my struggkj|feftjf^£|:!ft£^r him was in vain. 




Then the overwhelming coolness of the man 
brought him victor)' over us both. He 
pinned me down with one knee, and, seizing 
the lantern which was lying close by, he 
broke its thin sheet of horn, and held the 
flare right over an open barrel of powder. 

"Traitor," he cried to the Moor who had 
conducted me there, " take off my turban 
and bind this fellow ! n 

The Moor hesitated, 

"I will blow the three of us to perdition 
if you hesitate another second," the brigand 

My guide uttered a cry of fear. Coming 
forward, he unwound the brigand's turban 
and bound me fast with it El 
Hamam then removed the stone 
covering the orifice, and I was 
forced through. My guide, too 
terrified to escape, followed, the 
brigand coming last 

Once we were in the open air, 
the brigand fired a pistol-shot* the 
sound of which brought half-a- 
dozen of his followers upon us. 
El Hamam explained to the 
excited knot of listeners what had 

" What is your will ? " asked 
one of the fellows, a half-naked 
muleteer, who carried a rifle like 
the rest of the brigand's outposts, 

*' Hang them both to the 
nearest tree ! " answered El Ha- 
mam, I saw there was no hope 
of escape for me. My guide ap- 
parently had not known how 
rigidly the retreat was surrounded 
day and night by outposts. He 
had led me into certain capture. 

"El Hamam," I said, when 
I stood beneath the tree, with the 
rope adjusted about my neck, as 
was also the case with my com- 
panion : " for myself I ask nothing, 
but this Moor who guided me is 
a mere youth : set him free at 

u Nay, I do not desire it," cried 
the Moor* "El Hamam, who has 
always been called The Just, 
means to hang a fellow-country- 
man, as you are, innocently ! " 

He stared incredulously as the turban was 
removed, " Fatima ! " he cried, blankly. It 
was the brigand's wife ! She had failed to 
induce anyone to assist me, and so had 
disguised herself and personated a Moorish 
soldier in order to help me herself. 

li Take the rope from her neck ! n said 
El Hamam, eagerly, for he loved the 
woman beyond measure, and her reproof 
for his unfairness towards me unnerved 

*' From both or neither ! " insisted Fatima. 

The brigand finally agreed, but with no 
good will. The next day my camel was given 
back to me, and one of El Ha mam's 


„ *- 

Something in the Moor's voic 


startled the brigand, 

" Fellow, who are you ? " El Hamam asked, 
roughly. The Moor did not reply. 

"Take off his turban ! " cried the brigand. 

Y<?L ai^tfc 

by Google 

followers accompanied me part of the way to 
Kairouin, which I reached in safety after so 
prolonged an absence- 
Original from 


Ladies of the Households of the Princesses of England. 

HE Princesses naturally have 
smaller Courts than thnt of Her 
Majesty, whose Indies formed 
the subject of an article in 
our last August number, and 
there are other differences. 
The most noteworthy of these differences 
is that no Princess has a Maid of Honour, 
The Princess of Wales has, like the Queen, 
Ladies of the Bedchamber and Bed- 
chamber Women, but the other Princesses 
have " Ladies-in-Waiting " who are not neces- 
sarily possessed of'the prefix of L^dy or even 
Honourable. These Ladies-in-Waiting com- 
bine the duties of Ladies of the Bedchamber 
and Bedchamber Women. The Princess of 
Wales has an " Extra Bedchamber Woman" ; 
several of the other Princesses have £ * Honor- 
ary Ladies-in-Waiting," the Duchess of Con- 
naught has two Honorary Ladies-in-Waiting, 
and the Princess Ixjuise {Marchioness of 
Lome) one. The Princess Christian has, in 
addition to three Ladies-in-Waiting, one 
being "Extra," three Honorary Bedchamber 
The following are the various ladies who 

have kindly allowed us to reproduce their 

The Countess of Macclesfield. 

Lady Mary Frances Grosvenor, second 
daughter of the second Marquis of West- 
mi nster, by his wife Elizabeth Mary, daughter 
of the first Duke of Sutherland, was born in 
1831. In 1842 she married, as his second 
wife, the sixth Earl of Macclesfield. The first 
Earl of Macclesfield was a celebrated lawyer, 
who was created Lord High Chancellor in 
1 718, Lady Macclesfield was appointed 
Lady of the Bedchamber to the Princess of 
Wales on the marriage of the latter m 1863, 
and has held that office ever since. Lady 
Macclesfield is sister to the present Duke of 
Westminster, and great aunt of the present 
Duke of Sutherland. 

Miss Knollvs. 

Elizabeth Charlotte, eldest daughter of the 
late General the Right Honourable Sir 
William Thomas Knollys, K.C.B., Privy 
Councillor, Colonel of the Scots Guards, and 
Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod, was 
appointed Bedchamber Woman to Her Royal 


(Lady of the Bedchamber tw the Princess :>f Wales.) 
From a photo, by J, Thornton* 






(Ex Ira RedcliamVicr Woman to the Princess of Wales.) 
From a Photo, by Stima JncobMon, Stockholm. 

William George Grey, son of the second Karl 
Grey, who died as an Attache to the British 
Embassy at Paris in 1865. Mrs. Grey, who 
had been appointed Bedchamber Woman to 
the Princess of Wales in 1863, married in 
1873 the Due d*Otrante, when she resigned 
her post as Bedchamber Woman, but was 
appointed Extra Bedchamber Woman, The 
Due d'Otrante is the grandson of the notorious 
Joseph Fouehe, Napoleon's Minister of Police, 
who was created by him Due d'Otrante* His 
son settled in Sweden when Bernadotte, the 
favourite of the French army, ascended the 
throne of that country t and the second wife of 
this son was also a lady of the house of Sted- 
ingk, The present Duke is a retired captain 
of Swedish cavalry, and was at one time 
Equerry to Charles XV., son of Beniadotte. 

Lady Mary Wentworth Fitz-William, 

Lady Mary Grace Ixiuisa Butler, born in 
1846, is the daughter of John, second Marquis 

Highness the Princess of 
Wales about twenty years 
ago, and still holds that office. 
Her brother is Sir Francis 
KnoIlySj Private Secretary 
and Groom-in- Waiting to 
the Prince of Wales, There 
is a coincidence of some 
historical interest in the 
connection of two members 
of this family with the 
Court of the Princes of 
Wales. Only two Princes 
of Wales have been married 
at Windsor. The first of 
these was Edward the Black 
Prince, at the head of whose 
household was Sir Robert 
Knollys ; the second Prince 
of W'ales married at Wind- 
sor, after an interval of 
more than six centuries, 
was the present Prince, at 
the head of whose house- 
hold was Miss Knollys' 
father, the late Sir William 

The Duchesse d'Otrante. 

The Honourable Mrs. 
William Grey (Helfene 
Theresa Catherine), daugh- 
ter of Major-General Count 
Stedingk, Inspector-General 
of Cavalry in Sweden, mar 
ried in 1858 the Hon 

y Google 


(Extra Laily of ihe Bedchamber ro the Duchess nf Sasu Coburg-Gotha.) 
From a J'torfn, by K tf lUsnimfru Cvbvw 




of Ormonde, by his wife 
Frances Jane, daughter 
of the late General the 
Hon, Sir Edward Paget, 
G.C.B., of Peninsular 
fame. The Marquises of 
Ormonde are descended 
from Theobald F 1 1 ^ - 
Walter, who accompanied 
Henry I L to Ireland He 
was created by that King 
Chief Butler (sometimes 
called Le Eoteler) in 
Ireland, and his son 
assumed in consequence 
the surname of Butler. 
The sixth of the race was 
created Earl of Carrick 
in rji5 + Among the 

MRS. OH.I-N kfcl^EL. 

(Ladj in Wailing lothe Duchess of &ue-Col>urg- 


From a Photo, by Deivnfmm, Sttttthm, 

Who so is hungry and lilces to 

Let him come to Sprot borough 

to his meate, 
And for a night and for a day 
His horse shall have both com 

and hay, 
And no man shall ask him 

when he gnelh away, 

I,ady Mary was appointed 
luidy of the Bedchamber 
to Her Imperial and Royal 
Highness the Duchess of 
Edinburgh on her mar- 
riage in 1874. I^idy Mary 
resigned in 1876, when 
she was appointed Extra 
Lady of the Bedchamber 
to Her Imperial Highness, 

Mrs, Coun Keppel. 
Henrietta, daughter of 
Major - General Richard 

other ancestors of the 

Marquis of Ormonde was 

the great Duke of Ormonde, who played so Blundell, married, in 1889, Lieutenant Colin 

conspicuous a part in Irish history during Richard Keppel, R,N + , Equerry to His Royal 

the seventeenth 
century. Lady 
Mary married in 
1877 the Hon, 
Henry Went- 
worth Fitz - Wil- 
liam, son of the 
sixth Earl Fitz- 
William, He was 
M,P, for Wick^ 
low 1868-74, for 
the Southern 
Division of the 
West Riding of 
Yorkshire 1880- 
1885, and for the 
Don caster Divi- 
sion 1888-92 ; 
and has just been 
elected for it for 
the present Par- 
liament. The 
family of Fitz- 
William date 
back to the 
eleventh century, 
One of the early 
heads of the 
family erected, in 
the High Street 
of Sprotborou^h, 
a cross bearing 
the following 
quaint and hos- 
pitable inscrip- 
tion : — 


(Lady -in -Wait fag to the Duchess of York,) 

CFrom * Photo, b ¥ Atw Huffhf. 

Highness the 
Duke of Saxe- 
Coburg - Gotha, 
She is I^dy-in- 
Waiting to Her 
Royal and Im- 
perial Highness 
the Duchess of 
Gotha. Lieu- 
tenant Colin 
Richard Keppel 
is the son of Ad- 
miral of the Fleet 
the Hon, Sir 
Henry Keppel, 

Lady Eva 
is the daughter of 
the fourth Earl 
of Warwick by 
his wife Anne, 
eldest daughter 
of the eighth 
Earl of Wemyss. 
The Grevilles— 
the family name 
of the Earls of 
Warwick — trace 
their ancestry 
back to the reign 
of Edward I1L 
and the Barony 
of Brooke to 
i6?o. The first 



Baron Brooke caused to be inscribed on his 
monument in the great church of Warwick : 

Servant to Queen Elizabeth, 
Councillor to King James, 
And friend to Sir Philip Sidney. 

The Grevilles ought to be an opulent family, 
for they have four times married heiresses or 
co -heiresses. Indeed, the first Lord Brooke 
married a lady who was supposed to be one 
of the richest heiresses in England, Lady 
Eva was an intimate friend of the Duchess of 
York, and when the latter married, I,ady 
Eva was appointed I ,ady-in- Waiting to Her 
Royal Highness. On the 20th July last year 
she married Frank Dugdale, Esq., second 
son of the late James Dugdale, Esq,, J. P., 
IXI>, of Wroxall Abbey, Warwickshire, 

Lady Adela Mart a Larking. 

I,ady Adela is the daughter of the second 
Earl of Listowel, by his wife Maria Augusta, 
second daughter of Vice- Admiral William 
Windham, of Felbrigge Hall, Norfolk, and 
widow of Thomas VVyndham, Esq,, of Cromer 
Hall, in the same county* Lady Adela 
married, in 1864, Lieut - Col Cuthbert 
lurking, D.L., J.P,, who was formerly an 

LAUY A. I.AKKlsr,. 

(Lad)' of the Ekxtetiamlwr to the Duchess ofConnaiighl.) 

Frmti a I'hoto. b V Mttnlt d Foz. 


(Lady-in- Waiting to the Duchess or Albany.) 
i>om a Photo, bv Lambardu Fall Mall fcYut. 

officer of the 13th Light Infantry and 15th 
Hussars, and in 1877 appointed Lieut. -Col, 
of the West Kent Militia and Equerry to 
His Royal Highness the Duke of Con naught 
and Strathearn. He is the eldest son of 
John Wingfield Larking, DJ. T J, P., of The 
Firs, Lee, Kent. Colonel lurking is, in 
addition to being Equerry to the Duke of 
Con naught, also Gentleman Usher of the 
Privy Chamber to Her Majesty. In 1879 
Lady Adela was appointed Lady of the 
Bedchamber to Her Royal Highness the 
Duchess of Con naught, which post she still 

holds " Lady Collins. 

Mary, daughter of the Rev, Henry Wi^ht- 
wich, Rector of Codford St, Peters, Wilts, 
married in 1875 Sir Robert Hawthorn 
Collins, K,CB, Sir Robert, who was born 
in 1841, is the fourth son of the Rev, John 
Ferdinando Collins, of Betterton House, 
Wantage, Berks, Sir Robert, a B.A, of 
Oxford, was called to the Bar of Lincoln's 
Inn in 1865. In the following year he was 
appointed Private Tutor to the Duke of 
Albany, and on His Royal Highness becoming 
of age in 1874, Comptroller of his household. 
On His Royal Highness's death in 1884 
Sir Robert— he was created K.C.B. in that 
year— became Comptroller of the Household 
to the Duch^picifnAlbtiiy, a post which he 



THE STRAND MAGAZINE.>v m i i i \ . 

(Estra Lady-in -Wailing la the Pu chess of Albany.) 

From a Phttto. hp Frtd, Kinv&nrit, Xniffkttt'rulQf, 

has held ever since. I-ady 
Collins is 1-ady-in-Watting to 
Her Royal Highness. 

Lady Knightlev. 

Louisa Mary is the only 
daughter of the late General 
Sir Edward Rowater, K,CH., 
a most distinguished officer, 
who served with the 3rd (now 
Scots) Guards in the Penin- 
sula and Waterloo, and was 
wounded at Tala vera and Water- 
loo. Soon after the marriage 
of the late Prince Consort Sir 
Edward was appointed Equerry 
to His Royal Highness, and in 
1846 a Groom-in-Waiting to the 
Queen. In December, 1861, 
Sir Edward died at Cannes, 
where he had been sent in 
charge of His Royal Highness 
Prince Leopold. In 1869 Miss 
Roivater married Sir Rainakl 
Knightley, third baronet, born 
in 18 19, and M*P, for South 
Northamptonshire from 1852- 
1892. In the latter year he 
was raised to the peerage by 
the title of Karon Knightlev. 
Lady Kmghtley is and has 
been for many years an Extra 
Lady-in-Waiting to Her Royal 
Highness the Duchess of 
A I ban v, ^^ 

DigUized by GGOgle 

Lady Agketa Montagu, 

Lady Agneta Harriet Montagu is a 
daughter of the fourth Earl of Sandwich by 
his wife Susan, sixth daughter of the first 
Ijord Ravensworth. In 1867 she married 
Captain the Hon. Victor Alexander Montagu, 
R,N,, retired—now a retired Rear Admiral — 
son of the seventh Earl of Sandwich by his 
wife, I^dy Mary Paget, daughter of the first 
Marquis of Anglesey. The first Earl of Sand- 
wich was killed in the sea fight off South- 
wold Kay in 16723 and the fourth Earl, known 
by his contemporaries by the nickname of 
11 Jemmy Twitcher," was Fim Lord of the Ad- 
miralty in the early part of the reign of George 
III, I ady Agneta has been for many years an 
Extra Lady -in-Waiting to Her Royal High- 
ness the Princess Christian. Lady Agneta's 
elder sister, I .ady Elizabeth Philippa Bid- 
dulph, is an Extra Woman of the Bed- 
chamber to the Queen ; her elder brother, the 
late Hon, Eliot Constantine Yorke, was 
Equerry to the Duke of Edinburgh ; and 

i.apv ac;nf:ta mos'TA(H\ 
(Extra Lad y-in*Wai ting to PritaccHS Christian-) 




(Woman of the Bedchamber to Frinoess Christian.) 
From a J'fcofa. by Aung. 

(Lady-in- Waiting to Prim ess Christian.) 

Frttm a Photo, by Carl Bazkuftn* iHi nnttadi- 

another brother, the lion. Alexander Grant- 
ham Yorke, was Equerry to the late Duke of 
Albany, and afterwards appointed Groonvin- 
Waiting to the Queen, It will thus be ob- 
served that Lady Agneta's connection with 
the Court is very great. 

Baroness von und zer Egloffstein. 

Elizabeth, Baroness von und zer Egloffstein 
was, in July, 1891, appointed a Woman 
of the Bedchamber to Her 
Royal Highness the Princess 

Miss Emily Loch. 

Emily Elizabeth Loch is the 
daughter of the late George 
I^och, Esq., Q.C* Attorney- 
General for several years to 

His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales. 
In January, 1883, Miss Loch was appointed 
a Lady-in -Waiting to Her Royal Highness 
the Princess Christian, which post she occu- 
pies at the present time. 

Miss Anne Annette Minna Cochrane 

is the second daughter of the late Sir Thomas 
Cochrane, G.CB + , Admiral of the Fleet, grand- 
son of the eighth Earl of lkindonald, by his 
second wife, who was the third 
daughter of Sir J. D. Wheeler- 
Cuffe, first baronet Miss 
Cochrane 's eldest brother is 
the first Lord I^amington. 
She was appointed Ijidy-in- 
Waiting to Her Royal High- 
ness the Princess Beatrice in 


(Lady -m-Wiii ting to Princess Beatrice.) 
JVcjwi it Pkutv. b# 3f uftim, Ryd& 

by Google 

Original from 

The Evolution of Parliament, 

By S. T. Housi.ev. 


N r the 27th of November, 1895, 
our Parliament completed its 
>\\ hundredth year. It has at 
any rate escaped the doom 
pronounced upon all those of 
whom the world in general 
speaks smooth things. Mr. Froude himself 
has not hesitated to pour sarcasm on the 
poor English maivs adoration of the British 
Constitution, and to compare it to the Spanish 
peasant's infatuation for his bambino. With 
due respect to the great historian, our venera- 
tion for the principles of our government is 
too sanely deep-seated to be dislodged by 
ridicule. And, in spite of all blemishes in 
practice, we may subscribe to the words of 
another great writer, who places the tendency 
of our form of government among the 
highest influences of t:ivi ligation, when he says: 
"It is the predominant yet wisely tempered 
influence of public opinion in England 
that gives an intellectual and a moral value 
to English libertv, which, though we may 

Digitized by ^OUQ IC 

mention it last, we assuredly rank not as 
least among the blessings of our Constitution. 
Our country is the peculiar domicile of 
mental authority," 

Edward L's finances w T ere at low- 
water mark. Now, like other generous folk, 
the English nation has always resisted 
encroachments upon its liberty — "I don't 
mind giving a shilling, but I refuse to be 
swindled out of a halfpenny," Wise rulers 
have been far-sighted enough to take advan- 
tage of this characteristic j they have asked 
nicely for their shilling, and prudently re- 
frained from the forcible exaction of the 
humbler coin. 

Sir Edward Creasy has maintained that 
the English Constitution is as old as the 
English people. There is, however^ a point 
at which we can say that our present form of 
government was almost exactly anticipated. 
The Parliament which assembled on Nov. 
27th, 1295, to consider the King's require- 
ments, w^rjuj^^rcsentative of the various 



io 5 


classes of the kingdom, 
practically speaking, as 
the present Houses of 
Lords and Commons. 
Industry and commerce 
had attained a position 
of such importance that 
the King thought it 
advisable to ask the con- 
sent of their representa- 
tives to the imposition 
of taxes. Hence the 
appearance of the u two 
knights from each shire, 
two citizens from each 
city, and two burgesses 
from each borough " in 
this Parliament. The ar- 
rangement was not with- 
out precedent. Edward 
had the wit to appro- 
priate the political as 
well as the military 
schemes of Earl Simon 
de Montfort. It would 
l>e a mistake to sup- 
pose that the represen- 
tatives of the constituencies of those early 
days looked upon their political duties in the 
light in which historians and moralists of 
this century regard them. The M.I\ of the 
Middle Age?? knew little of civic enthusiasm ; 
he expected wagfcs ; he shirked attendance 
when possible ; his constituency, too, not 
infrequently petitioned to be allowed to 
remain unrepresented, and keep its repre- 
sentative's wages secure in its own pocket. 
Truly, the mighty plant of the Constitution 
grew out of an earthy soil 

One result of this callousness was that the 
more important events of history — 
as we regard them— did not receive 
their due share of contemporary at- 
tention ; and consequently no repre- 
sentation of the complete and model 
Parliament of 1295 is forthcoming. 
The drawing reproduced at the head 
of this article shows a " Parliament/ 1 
as almost any assembly at Royal 
command was then called ; it was 
made in the fifteenth century, and 
represents the House of Peers, with 
Edward on the throne, supported 
by Alexander of Scotland and 
Llewellyn of Wales, as it was sup- 
posed to have sat on some compara- 
tively obscure occasion in the year 

The first Speaker whose name 


appears in the Rolls of 
Parliament was Sir 
Thomas Hungerford. It 
is said that Peter de la 
Mare had filled the office 
previously, De la Mare 
is recorded as filling the 
post in 1377, while Sir 
Thomas as certainly was 
elected to the office in 
the preceding year. 

The English seems to 
have been the most 
precocious of all grow- 
ing peoples. We early 
developed a strong ca- 
pacity for regulating our 
rulers. One of those 
momentous passages in 
the life of Parliament, 
though by no means a 
solitary instance, the 
deposition of one King 
and the popular election 
of another, is recorded 
in the accompanying 
illustration. Of the full 
significance of their act the people were 
probably ignorant. No historical explana- 
tion, such as we are accustomed to, was 
forthcoming. On the contrary, the high 
Tories of the day, supporters of Richard IL, 
did not scruple to write down the assembly 
at ll Westmonstre " as u evil-minded," while 
his opponents confused the issue with recol- 
lections of ancient prophecies and saws of 
the most absurd nature, the greater number 
being, of course, ascribed to Merlin. Among 
the regalia, for instance, were the golden 
eagle and the cup said to have been dis- 




covered during the last reign. According to 
the current fable, these treasures had been 
presented by the Virgin Mary to that worldly 
saint, Thomas of Canterbury, during his 
exile from England. A scrip found with 
them affirmed that "with the oil of this 
vessel good Kings of the English will be 
anointecl and one of them will recover 
without violence the lands lost by his 
parents, and he will be great among Kings, 
and will build many churches in the 
Holy Land, and will drive all Fagans 
out of Babylon, where he will build more 
churches/' and so on. The ecclesiastical im- 
agination of that 
day revelled in 
flights of fancy, 
unrestricted by 
geography, in- 
ternational di- 
plomacy, and 
Board schools. 
And the chroni- 
cler asserts that 
Henry wore the 
golden engle tied 
round his neck, 
to insure victory 1 . 

Some of the 
costumes in the 
original picture 
are truly gor- 
geous. Henry of 
I^ancaster stands 
at the back, in 
that wondrous, 
tallj black hat. 
The Earl of 
land, the figure 
standing on the 
right, is tn blue 
and gold, lined 
with whitc 3 and 
red sleeves. Im- 
mediately to his 
left is a trucu- 
lent-look ing 
nobleman, in 
purple and gold, 
with a green cap 
and red hose. 
Others are ar- 
rayed in similar 
permitting her 
crimson cowl 

It appears from several entries in the 
Rolls of Parliament during the early part of 
the reign of Edward III., that after the open- 

t'AKI.I AUKNT OF HtNHY V]ll h (15^-1546), 

taste, even the Church 
servants the vanity of a 

ing of Parliament in the presence of Barons, 
clergy, and Commons collectively, these 
three estates frequently sate each separately, 
and afterwards delivered a joint answer to 
the King. The eventual separation of Parlia- 
ment into the two Houses, with which we are 
familiar, was the result of a gradual process, 
the stages of w T hich we are unable satis- 
factorily to trace. It seems that the instances 
referred to above were the lingering remnants 
of an older custom which had disappeared 
before the end of the reign. 

Parliament is assembled on a day fixed by 
Royal Proclamation. The Commons are 

then called to 
the House of 
Lords to hear 
the cause of 
summons, and 
are directed to 
proceed to the 
election of their 
Speaker; a time 
is also appointed 
when they will 
be required to 
attend and pre- 
sent their Spea- 
ker for the Royal 
approval This 
drawing repre- 
sents the first 
Parliament of 
Henry VIII. 
upon that occa- 
sion. The Spea- 
ker presented 
was Sir Robert 
Sheffield. Money 
was wonted to 
conduct the war 
with France j 
Parliament as- 
sembled on the 
4th of February, 
1512, and eager- 
ly granted the 
desired supplies. 
A sermon for- 
med part of the 
opening cere- 
mony i and was 
delivered by 
Warham, the Archbishop of Canterbury. 
Curiously enough, he chose as his text, 
"Justitia et pax nsculatae stint/' "Righteous- 
ness and peace have kissed each other,' 7 

From the^rSyWW'l^ward IV., through 
this pLWtfE fiJelvTtf" Cdf MGHJiiAM the Restora- 




tion, our Constitutional Pari lament was some- 
what under a cloud. Much of the work of 
government was carried on by the King 
in Council And one of the 
greatest struggles of the people 
with the Crown was directed to 
the attainment of power to regulate 
the constitution of this Council, 
Its lineal descendant, the Privy 
Council, " has ceased to exist as a 
constitutional factor in the govern- 
ment." Its living and active off- 
shoot is the Cabinet Ministry of 
to-day, which the people has suc- 
ceeded in making completely re- 
sponsible to the country for its 
acts. This sketch was affixed to 
the title of the "Rook of Com- 
mon Prayer," published in 1549, 
the precursor of that at present in 
use. It gives the young King a 
prominence which is, perhaps, 
more than his due, for, at this 
time, he was still linked to the 
apron-strings of the sixteen execu- 
tors appointed by his father In- 
deed, he was not yet twelve years 
of age, The accounts of the 
debates in Parliament on the insti- 
tution of this prayer-book are 
interesting, as being the earliest 
reported speeches extant of those 
delivered in that assembly. 

Here is yet another representa- 
tion of the Commons presenting 
their Speaker-elect for the approval 
of the Crown, One very noticeable 
difference between this picture and 
that of the Parliament of 151 2 is 
in the costume of the clergy. On 

the right sit the 
peers, in robes 
not much differ- 
ent to those of 
earlier or later 
years ■ opposite 
to them sit the 
representatives of 
the Church ; the 
mitre of Rome 
has been ex- 
changed for the 
severer head-gear 
of the New Re- 

The modern 
procedure of the 
presentation of 
the Speaker is 

of almost immemorial tradition, and is as 

follows : — 

At the hour appointed the Houses as- 

r > vfMr-imvsm* 




semble in their respective chambers, and 
the Speaker - eleet takes the chair in the 
Commons, Presently appears the Gentle- 
man Unher of the Black Rod, who con- 
ducts the Speaker - elect to the House of 
Lords. The Speaker then informs the 
Crown—usually represented by the Lords 
Commissioners— that, "in obedience to Her 
Majesty's commands " — in Elizabeth's time 
it was "your Highness'.** commands" — "Her 
Majesty's faithful Commons, in the exercise 
of their undoubted right and privilege, have 
proceeded to the election of a Speaker, and as 
the object of their choice he now presents 
himself at your bar, and submits himself 
with all humility to Her Majesty's gracious 
approbation/' On two occasions only has 
the "gracious approbation" been withheld. 
Usually the Lord Chancellor assures him 
that " Her Majesty most fully approves and 
confirms him as the Speaker." Having re- 
ceived the Royal assent, the Speaker proceeds 
to lay claim toall the "ancient and undoubted 
rights and privileges "of the Commons, which 
it is part of his duty to maintain. The claim 
having been granted, the Speaker retires 
from the House of Lords, and holds the post 
throughout the Parliament for which he was 

One almost needs to be reminded that 
newspapers are not one of the break Tast- 
table blessings conferred upon us by the 
science of the nineteenth century, nor even 
or the eighteenth. Papers containing accounts 
of the deeds of Parliament sprang into 
bein^ in consider- 
able numbers 
during the stirring 
times of our Civil 
War, In Novem- 
ber, 164 1 , for in- 
stance, the month 
of the Grand Re- 
monstrance, there 
appeared a weekly 
paper styling itself 
" Diurnal Occur- 
rences j or, the 
Heads of Several 
Proceedings in 
Both Houses of 
Parliament" The 
period was exceed- 
ingly fertile, and 
produced many 
" Diumals," pos- 
sibly also orna- 
mented with 
headings as quaint 


as this* These " rags " hardly deserve the 
title of newspapers ; their news was very 
meagre, and their paucity of comment was 
hardly compensated by the virulence of its 

When Charles L had exhausted the pockets 
and the patience of England, the Commons 
resolved, on December 6th, 1648, that what- 
ever was enacted by them had the force of law, 
without the consent of the King or the House of 
Lords. On February 6th, 1649 — not a month 
after the King's execution — they declared that 
the House of Lords was "useless, dangerous, 
and ought to be abolished." The next day a 
similar fate befell the system of monarchy, 
Finally, on May 19th, the Commons, by a 
solemn Act, declared and constituted the 
people of England a Commonwealth and 
free State. A great seal, the reverse of which 

is here repro- 
duced, was struck 
by order of the 
Commons alone. 
Act and seal are 
equally significant 
of the temper of 
the Commons. 
The obverse was 
a map of England 
and Ireland, with 
the legend, "The 
Great Scale of 
England/ 1 There- 
verse tells its own 
tale here ; it has 
no place for a 
King or a House 
of Ixirds, 

Our next illus- 
tration brings us 
to an era of Mini- 
11 sters. The people 



great points. James II.'s folly 
afforded Parliament an opportunity 
to reassert and act upon its ancient 
right to choose its King, while the 
inability of George L to speak the 
language of the country he came 
to rule gave birth to the office — 
or call it what you will — of Prime 
Minister. In fact, during the reign 
of the two first Georges, the Crown 
ceased absolutely to be an active 
factor in the government Not 
only did the Kings do no wrong, 
but they did nothing at all " Both 
were honest and straightforward 
men, who frankly accepted the 
irksome position of constitutional 
Kings. As political figures, the 
two Georges are almost absent 
from our history." The year 1755 
was that in which the Duke of 
Newcastle came into controversy 
with the genius of William Pitt, 
afterwards Earl of Chatham. Pitt 
was then Paymaster of the Forces ; 
and, having refused on technical 
grounds to pay certain subsidies, 
he was dismissed The next year 
the Seven Years* War broke out, 

■ [■■■■■■.... i- 11, "■- 

1 Ma Kb: (175 s). 

and Pitt became Secretary of State 
nominally, though actually the first 
Minister in the kingdom. 

At the prorogation of Parlia- 
ment, the Commons are called to 
the bar of the Upper House, just 
as at its opening. The Speaker 
addresses the Crown, presents the 
Bills of Supply, and adverts to the 
most important measures that have 
been passed in the Session, After 
giving the necessary sanction to 
such Bills as still await it, the King 
reads his speech to the Houses, 
either personally or through the 
Lord Chancellor* Finally, the Lord 
Chancellor, instructed by His 
Majesty, declares Parliament pro- 

From the days of the Earl of 
Chatham we pass to the year in 
which his second son, the younger 
William Pitt, undertook the task 
of government, which proved the 
last of his brief but glorious life- 
Trouble was brewing across the 
Channel, and England, resolved to 
strike the first blow, had declared 
UNrV"^tfeja^iV^:tlk^i in May, 



OUSB OF COMMONS {1604)— BEIGS OK LitOKOfc. lit. 

1803. Those were anxious times. In the 
following year 100,000 men were gathered 
at Boulogne, within sight of England's white 
cliffs; a fleet of boats was in readiness to 
convey them across the water* " Let us be 
masters of the Channel for six hours," said 
the great Napoleon, " and we are masters of 
the world." Englishmen hastened to join 
the new force of volunteers, and prepared 
to defend their 
country, Pitt liter- 
ally wore himself 
to death in the 
execution of the 
military duties he 
undertook. All 
danger, however, 
of an invasion dis- 
appeared when it 
was known that 
th# French and 
Spanish fleets had 
been defeated at 
Trafalgar, The 
orator speaking in 
the House of 
Commons may 
well be intended 
for William Pitt. 
The long, angular 
figure, the curious 
gesticulation, are 
characteristic of 
the great states- 

man. "His action 
as a speaker was 
vehement and 
tin grace fill , saw- 
ing the air with 
windmill arms, 
sometimes al- 
most touching 
the ground." 

For many 
years, until that 
scourge of 
Europe, "the 
little Corporal," 
was safely lodged 
in St, Helena, 
England had a 
thorny path to 
tread, But the 
work which Pitt 
died in doing 
was brought to 
a worthy issue. 
"When the last 
shot had been 
fired at Waterloo, Great Britain was indis- 
putably the first Power in the world*" Pitt's 
beloved country had entered upon an era of 
unprecedented power and prosperity; which 
permits us to return to the story of the 
Houses of Parliament 

The old Houses, says the Courier \ were 
not "valuable in an architectural sense, for a 
less sightly and more inconvenient place for 



UUKNlAtj u* 

business could scarcely bo conceived," Con- 
sequently it received with qualified grief the 
news that both Houses were almost entirely 
destroyed by fire on October ifith, 1834. 
How the fire really originated remains doubt- 
ful It is said that the heating apparatus 
became red-hot through the quick burning of 
the old wooden "tallies," on which accounts 
were formerly kept in the Exchequer. 
If that were so, the "tallies" exacted 
a. sufficient revenge for the indignity heaped 
upon their ancient heads. The fire 
broke out at twenty minutes to six in the 
evening and was not totally extinguished 
until two or three 
in the morning. 
There was the 
usual crowd, 
whose levity 
seems to have 
shocked the re- 
porters of that 
day- " There goes 
a bit of the Poor 
Law Act," they 
cried ; " there is 
the Reform Bill," 
and so forth. They 
were wrong ; the 
Acts of Parlia- 
ment were not 
kept in the Parlia- 
ment office : they 
enjoyed an alibi. 
That the contents 
of the library had 
escaped was made 
known in the fol- 

lowing poster : "St 
Margaret's, West^ 
minster. Notice is 
hereby given, that 
in consequence of 
the dreadful cala- 
mity which has be- 
fallen the Houses 
of Lords and 
Commons, a great 
portion of the 
books, records, 
etc,, having been 
placed in this 
church for safety, 
Divine service can- 
not be performed 
in this church on 
Sunday next (to- 

The Library of 
the House of Peers, which had the fortune 
to escape, was fitted up as a temporary 
House; and here the Lords and Com- 
mons attended for the prorogation of 
Parliament- the Lords seated on one side, 
the Commons on the other ; an unusual 
arrangement. Temporary accommodation was 
soon provided, and in March, 1835, a Select 
Committee was appointed to Like the neces- 
sary steps for the rebuilding of the Houses. 
In 1840, out of many competitive drawings, 
the design of Mr. Charles Harry was adopted. 
The new Houses, complete, excepting the 
Victoria Tower^ which a sarcastic journalist 

I'AkLIA^ItN i (l3j4). 






ri-tom a I'Aolrt. h\j'\ 

the, H1.JUS1: of common s--rKKhi£?»T uav. 


of the day hoped to see at its full hctj>i">t ''in 
some dozen years or so " — were opened by 
Her Majesty the Queen on February 3rd, 
1852, on which occasion also the architect 
received the honour ot knighthood. 

Since that date the House of Commons 
has met with a serious mishap. A more 
successful attempt than that of the notorious 
Guy Fawkes was made to blow it up, This 

time dynamite was used, and damage to the 
extent of ^£ 10,000 was effected. The 
outrage was perpetrated in January, 1885, 
so that the annual investigation of the offices, 
which occupy the place of the old cellar, on 
the eve of the Fifth of November proved a 
fruitless precaution* 

The present appearance of the two Houses 
is shown in the accompanying illustrations. 

ftam a l M fmto- bff\ 

I free-. iVcucMl J 



By the Countess of Munster. 

AVING been much gratified at 
the notice which has been 
taken of my short story, en- 
titled "A True Ghost Story," 
which was published in the last 
July Number of The Strand 
Magazine, and even more so at the many 
letters I have received concerning it, from 
unknown friends, who, one and all, seemed 
struck by the stamp of truth which they 
kindly assert is impressed upon the narrative, 
I have ventured to offer to the public another 
curious experience, which, though shorter and 
less sensational than the "True Ghost Story*" 
is, I beg to assert, equally true and, to my 
mind, equally mysterious. 

In the year 1847, we— that is, my mother, 
my step-father, myself, and my younger sister 
— were living in Dresden. We had come to 
that quaint and picturesque town a year 
before, for German masters, and with the 
object of generally finishing our education — 
that is, my sister's and mine ; for we were 
very young then — I being just sixteen, and 
my sister a year younger. 

We lived at the Hotel d' Europe, in the 
AU-Markt— an hotel which, I am told, still 
exists. We occupied the first floor, and my 
sister and I slept together in a room at the 
back of the hotel, which looked into a court- 
yard, round which all the bedrooms were 

It was a great amusement to my sister and 
myself at that time to sit at our sitting-room 
windows and watch the country -people^ in 
curious costumes, who, twice a week, tramped 
miles and miles to the market, carrying 
thither all kinds of commodities, and in- 
commodities, too, one would think — for one 
day we saw a peasant woman carrying a dead 
bear (!) in her cAiJftin/i/er-hzLs'ket on her back, 
while her husband walked, quietly smoking, 
by her side ' 

The articles for sale in the market were 
not always very pleasing to the olfactory 
organs, for saiier-kraiif (in pails !) and roe- 
deer flasch were there ! Mercifully, both 
articles were very popular among the pea- 
sants, and were soon sold out, in fact, quite 
early in the day. 

One night I had a dream. I did not 
remember the next morning (nor could I 
ever remember afterwards !) what I dreamt. 
I could only bring to mind, with a shudder, 
a Man's Face 7 and do what I would, I amid 
not forget it ! When I rose from my bed in 
the morning, my sister (we were most tenderly 
attached) remarked I looked very pale ; and 
she asked, was I ill ? I answered no, -but 
that I had had a bad dream. 

" What did you dream about ? " asked my 

" I don't know ! I can only remember a 
Man's lace Original from 


ii 4 



" What was it like, to frighten you so? 

"Well! It was like — a Mans Face! 
nasty, wicked, malicious face ! "' 

"But, bless me : Child ! Who was it 
like? Come! Tell me, darling! What 
did you dream about it? " 

" I can't recollect \ " 

*' Oh 1 '' (juotli my sifter, impatiently, 
" what a dull, stupid, uninteresting dream ! " 

Nothing more was said about it then, and 
the days avocations put it out of my head 
for the time ; but that night, and two or 
three following nights, I dreamt again and 
again of the Man's Face— and told my sister 

Soon afterwards we 
were few railroads in 
Germany at that time, 
so we travelled in our 
own carriage, accom- 
panied by a f&urg&n 
for the luggage, in 
which vehicle the ser- 
vants rode. 

On one never-to-be- 
forgotten day we 
crossed the beautiful 
Stelvio and entered 
smiling Italy ! 

That was a pleasant 
time, and calculated, 
one would have 
thought, to charm 
away all grisly fancies, 
visited most of the principal 
Italian towns — Milan, 
Venice, Florence, in which 
latter place we remained for 
a month before settling in 
Naples, to which enchanting 
spot we travelled by sua 
from Leghorn. 

At Naples we lived on 
the Chiaja, our abode there 
(No, 127) being known as the "Cam 
Corby/' it being the property of an English 
lady, a Mrs. Corby. We lived on the 
Prima Piatn^ and we had a charming bal- 
cony, looking out upon the Chiaja (with 
the Villa Utah Gardens beyond), whence we 
could (after the approved dokt far nienfe 
fashion) watch the Neapolitan iiik driving, 
riding, and otherwise disporting itself. 

In those days, everything English was 
much the fashion among the Neapolitan 
aristocracy ; the carriages, horses, and even 
the coachmen were generally English ; and 
one afternoon, as I was sitting working on 
the balcony, I beheld the greatest novelty I 

Digitized by Vi< 

had yet seen, in the form of an English four- 
in-hand. It was coming at a great pace 
towards us + My sister chanced at that 
moment to have gone, for some reason, into 
the drawing-room, so, calling her hastily, I 
said: " Make haste, dear, or it will have 
passed, and you won't see it ! " 
"See what? 55 from within. 
" A four-in-hand ! Do come ! " 
She dashed into the balcony, and we both 
stood eagerly watching, as the vehicle came 
clattering by; 

As we leant over the balcony, the driver, 
evidently a gentleman, leant forward in a 
marked manner, and looked steadily at us, 

"What a horrible face! 1 ' exclaimed my 
sister, and as she spoke she looked round at 

" Darling ! " she said, tenderly, " what is the 
matter ? w 

But I had nearly fainted, and a cold, sick 

shudder came over me. "Oh! M /' I 

ejaculated, " that is the Max's Face in my 
dream ! " 

I was so terrified that we both left the 
balcony, and for the rest of the day I was 
cold, and deadly ? iclf- on -f did not, however, 




dream of the face that night, nor did I see it 
again in Naples, although I sat every after- 
noon in thu balcony, conscious of a shrink- 
ing fascination in the thought that I might 
do so ! 

After stopping some months in Naples we 
went to Paris, where I was permitted (being 
by that time seventeen years of age) to mix a 
little in society. 

Amongst the English residents in Paris 
that year, who were very hospitable, and 
entertained largely, were Mr. and Mrs. Tudor. 
The Tudors were rich and very kindly, and 
even now the memory of 
their hospitalities is kept 
green in the French 

One night they gave a 
ball, and as I was standing 
by my mother, waiting 
and looking eagerly for 
my partner amid the 
crowd, I saw — at the 
other end of the room — 
the Face which had so 
strangely haunted me '. 
The eyes were watching 
me, and the man ap- 
proached me, as though 
/ were his one aim and 
object ! I felt faint and 
very cold, and I saw Mr. 
Tudor coming towards 

"The Dnca di - is 

anxious to know you," 

I scarcely had the pre- 
sence of mind to bow- I 
heard the man say some- 
thing about a dance, but 
I turned to my mother 
and said : — 

"Mamma, take me 
away ! I am ill ! " 

I could not walk un- 
assisted out of the room, 
but Mr* Tudor gave me 
his arm, and as we were 
waiting for the carriage, I 

saw the man still looking at me with evident 
amusement ; and I heard Mr. Tudor tell my 
mother that it was a pity I would not dance 
with the Duke — that he was the head of one 
of the oldest Italian families— that he had 
been much struck by me, and that he was 
very anxious to obtain an English wife. 

But I never saw the man again, either in 
dreamland or in everyday life ; we were told, 
however, that he started for England the next 
day, and soon afterwards we heard of his 
death. He was succeeded by his son, who 
also, eventually, developed a wish for t and 
obtained, a beautiful 
English wife, whom he 
treated, we were told, with 
but scant kindness. 


by Google 

Original from 



■?*-*' ^-' ■■>-" 


generally known in the district 
as Master Trefume, had so 
often related the story of 
Uncle Sambuq and his fortune 
that he had finally come to 
believe it himself. The simple truth of the 
matter was that Peter Sambuq, a neer-do- 
well who had given his parents no end of 
trouble, had shipped as an ordinary seaman 
on a three-master one fine day in the year of 
grace 1848, and had never been seen or 
heard of since. These hard facts were 
too ridiculously simple for the worthy 
friends and relations of the vanished Peter ; 
they could not understand how anyone could 
set out for America without reaching that 
continent and making his fortune ; so the 
\yorthy people gradually evolved the idea 
that Uncle Sambuq had gone and done 
likewise, and would one day return rolling 
in riches— of course, to die in due time and 
leave his fortune to them. 

So the years rolled by, and Uncle Sambuq's 
fortune grew bigger in the imagination of his 
people. The older relatives died, and Master 
' Ire fume became heir to his uncle. Now, 
it happened one day that Trefume met a 
sailor whose acquaintance he had made a 
year or so previously. This man had just 
returned from a voyage to the States, arid 
Trefume seized the opportunity to offer 

Digitized by G* 

him a glass of brandy (contraband) 
and ask him if he had heard of 
Uncle Sambuq while on the other 

The sailor, probably out of polite- 
ness, and in order to please Trefume 
and his wife, informed them that he had a 
distinct recollection of having on several occa- 
sions met an individual (on the quays of New 
York) who was undoubtedly very wealthy 
indeed, and was the exact image of Sambuq, 
That settled the matter; there could no longer 
be any doubt that Uncle Sambuq had reached 
America and made his pile, as any other 
reasonable person wjuld do* 

On the following day Trefume again met 
the sailor- or perhaps it was the sailor who 
made a point of meeting Trefume ; be that 
as it may, the result of the meeting was 
another glass of brandy for the sailor, further 
questions about Uncle Sambuq, and a con- 
fidential communication to the effect that the 
stranger in New York was really the long-tost 
Peter, for he had spoken to the mariner 
concerning his relatives, and had dropped 
mysterious hints as to his intentions towards 

The Tref times became the envied ones of 
the neighbourhood. Uncle Sambuq and his 
fortune — especially his fortune — were the 
chief topic of conversation for many a day 
among the inhabitants of the whole district. 
The Trefumes lived happy and contented, 
patiently awaiting the time when they would 
have their share of the millions amassed by 
Peter Sambuq. 

A few months passed away. One morn- 
ing, when he was least expecting it, he 
Original from 



I3 7 

received a letter from New York. The letter 
bore the seal of the French Embassy- Tre- 
fume carried that precious letter about with 
him all day, without breaking the seal, in 
order to show it to his friends. Not till the 
evening, in the presence of his wife and child- 
ren, his hands trembling with excitement, 
did he venture to open it. It was somewhat 
bulky— probably it contained bank-notes, 
The papers were carefully taken from the 
envelope and proved to be — Sambuq's death 
certificate and a brief note from the Embassy. 

u So he is dead ? " said his wife, 

*'Of course he is/' replied Trefume; 
*' doesn't the Ambassador say so?*' 

There was silence- None of them had 
known the dead man, but they had thought 
so much about him that it seemed as though 
they had been on intimate terms with him, 
and they were able to squeeze out a tear. 

'* The Ambassador doesn't say anything 
about the fortune/' observed Trefume's better 
half, wiping her eyes, 

"I suppose you want him to tell us all 
about it straight off before the man is fairly 
dead/' replied Trefnme, sarcastically, "We 
can wait, and he knows it. He'll write again 
in a day or two." 

He looked again at the envelope and 
noticed that it was addressed to " Monsieur 
Sar/.buq or Monsieur Cogolin," As all the 
Samhuqs were dead and he was the only 
Cogolin, it was natural that the letter should 
have been delivered to him, and the vagueness 
of the address did not inspire in the simple 
man any misgivings as to the fortune any more 
than did the brief note from the Embassy. 

But, strange to say, the Ambassador 
omitted to write that other letter. As the 
time went on surprise deepened into anxiety ; 
a veritable fever — a gold fever — took posses- 
sion of them ; they lost interest in even- 
thing, they could think of nothing but 
Sambuqs millions, and wonder what had 
become of them. At length their anxiety 
reached such a pitch that Trefume announced 
his intention of undertaking a journey to 
New York — a decision which met with the 
fjll approval of all concerned, 

" I sha'n't be away more than a month— or 
two,' 1 said Trefume, "and the boy can look 
after the boat. A few hundred francs wont 
break us ; besides, I know I shall be ill if I 
don't go and see what's going on over there," 

I have said that everyone approved the 
decision, I may add that bad it been 
otherwise it would have made no difference. 
When Trefume got an idea into his head it 
wanted some getting out. 

by Google 

He travelled to Havre and embarked on a 
vessel bound for New York, He knew 
absolutely nothing of the great city which he 
was approaching ; he could not speak the 
language — he was as helpless as a child in a 


wood. He began to get very anxious, and 
looked around for somebody to confide in and 
obtain assistance from. He tried the under- 
stewaid.a fellow-countryman, but the latter was 
too busy to be bothered. Trefume, however, 
refused to be shaken off, and the under- 
steward, in desperation, glanced about for 
somebody to whom he could refer the per- 
sistent fisherman, and so get rid of him, 

M Here ! n he said, pointing to two of the 
passengers : " those are the men to help you. 
They know New York so well that they could 
find their way blindfold anywhere in the 
city. Try them ! * 

Trefume looked at the men and thanked 
his compatriot heartily. He was delighted 
at the thought of meeting two people who 
were so well acquainted with New York. 
They were two shifty-looking Yankees, who 
had been left very severely alone on the 
\ oyage. He went towards the two passengers, 
who, after exchanging a word or two between 
them selves , walked away before he could 
reach them.QJ^ftfti-mc ^!ked after them, but 




they still avoided him and began conversing 
earnestly together, The fisherman hesitated; 
he thought they had something private on, 
and he did not wish to intrude. It never 
entered his head that they were avoiding 
him. He did not intend to lose his chance, 
so he continued to walk after them at a 
respectable distance* Two or three times, 
when he thought the moment opportune, he 
approached them hat in hand and attempted 
to speak to them in his best French, but was 
met with a scowl and a growl which made 
him. retire. He put it down to American —or 
English —manners, and with a sigh he with- 
drew for a few minutes, 

The two Americans were evidently much 
perplexed at the strange conduct of their 
fellow-passenger ■ they were worried about 
it, too ; so, finally, they spoke to the under- 
steward concerning 'I Ye fume. The official 
was more busy than ever, but he was fond of 
a joke, and thought he might as well enliven 
the routine of the day by a little 

" You know that there has been 
a big robbery in Paris?" he said, 
in a confidential whisper. il Well, I 
wouldn't mind betting that this man 
is Jean Ernest, the cleverest detee- 
tive in France, who is on the track 
of the thieves and has disguised 
himself as a fisherman from the 

The two men looked at each 
other, thanked the un der-ste ward, 
and dived into their cabin, from 
which they only emerged when the 
ship was actually alongside the quay. 
Poor Trefume looked for them in 
vain ; they got off the steamer un- 
observed by him, and he was left to 
find his way about New York as 
best he could. 

How he went through the rest of 
that day, where he lodged at night, 
he never knew, He began again 
on the following day, Looking for the 
Embassy, asking the way in his pro- 
vincial French, and being laughed 
at and treated with contempt as an 
impostor, until, sick at heart, and 
thoroughly discouraged, he sat down 
on a doorstep and began to cry- 
Uncle Sambuq might have jour- 
neyed to his native country to die, 
and thus have made things easier 
for his heir ! 

After a few minutes he plucked 
up courage and determined to try 

Digitized by Google 

again. He had just reached the end of the 
street when he saw one of the Americans to 
whom the under-steward had referred him on 
the steamer. He had changed his clothes and 
cut off his beard, but Trefume was positive 
that it was the same man. 

u Monsieur, monsieur ! }i he cried, running 
towards the man* 

Whether the man heard the words or not, 
he took to his heels as soon as he saw the 
Frenchman running. 

"What!" said Trefume to himself, in an 
indignant tone, (< This man knows New 
York as well as I know Endoume, and he 
won't help me ! I'll see about that" 

Away they went, the American and Tre- 
fume. In vain the former doubled this 
corner and that ; his pursuer stuck to him 
until, thoroughly exhausted, the American 
took refuge in a bar and awaited the arrival 
of his pursuer. 

** So I have you at last!" exclaimed the 





Frenchman, " Why did you run away and 
give me all this trouble ? Now you must K 

4i Hush ! n interrupted the American, turn- 
ing pale in spite of the violent exercise, 
i( Don't make a fuss, * he continued, in 
excellent French ; *' that will be of no ust\ 
Come and sit down in this corner*" 

4i Ah ! that's better/ 1 thought Trefurne. 
Hi] r hi.- simply looked knowingly at tin.- man 
and took a seat 

*' 1 know what you have come to New 
York for/ J said the man, 

" Good again ! " thought the fisherman ; 
but before he could speak, the American 
continued : — 

11 We can arrange this little affair, can't we, 
without further bother ? " 

"Of course we can !" exclaimed Trefurne, 
thinking still that the man was talking about 
Uncle Sambuq's fortune. 

"That's agreed. Now, how much do you 
want ? " 

" My fair share, of course ! t? replied the 

" I'll give you this pocket-book — it has one 
hundred thousand francs in French notes — I 
have not had time to exchange them for 
American money. They are good, you need 



not be afraid that they are bad or stopped, 
Will that satisfy you ? " 

One hundred thousand francs ! It was an 
immense sum; but was it a fair share? 
How much was Uncle Sambuq worth ? 

"Is that my fair share?" asked Trefurne, 

u How much do you expect?" asked the 
other, irritably. " It was a good thing, but 
it wasn't a gold-mine, and there are several to 
share it. Irs either that or nothing ! " 

11 Well I III take it ! " said Trefurne, be- 
ginning to fear that he might lose all. 

11 Very well ! Now, you have this on 
condition that you go back in the Bretagfte^ 
and the Bntagne starts in two hours. And 
remember, you have never seen me ! " 
" Done ! M exclaimed Trefurne* 
The pocket-book was handed to him, and 
he scrutinized the notes, They were all 
right He tried to explain it all to him- 
self; he was not clear on some points ; 
but the more he tried to think it out, the 
more confused he became. Only one thing 
was clear : he had succeeded in getting a 
good slice of Uncle Sambuq's fortune and 
was now a rich man. 

They remained where they were for an 
hour, then the American went with 
him to procure a ticket, saw him 
safely on board, and watched him 
until the ship started on its voyage 
across the Atlantic, 

Thus it came about that 
Master Trefurne, having had the 
good fortune to be taken for a 
detective, became the heir of 
Uncle Sambuq, who had died 
penniless in a hospital a few 
weeks before ! 

As to Trefurne, he was never 
able to arrive at any proper under- 
standing of the affair, but he 
did not worry himself much on 
that head. Later on, when he 
had given up work and donned 
a frock-coat, he used to shake 
his head and declare, with much 
gravity, that in business matters 
those American fellows were far 
ahead of any other people. See 
how quickly they settled that 
l^tle matter 'of Uncle Sambuq's 

by Google 

Original from 





3 + — M A STRONG, STRONG PL LL ! ! " 



. r nnn [.. Original frann 


p rtnfJ f , Original from 


■ -'■ 

{See page 127.) 

by Google 

Original from 

Illustrated Interviews, 


Bv Harry How. 

EAFORI) is a charmingly quiet 
little st aside resort on the 
south coast It is almost an 
ideal spot for a rest. I had 
left the train at Newhaven and 
walked along the somewhat 
rough beach for about an hour when the 
little village came into sight. It was my first 
visit to Seaford, and I had come down with 
the anticipation of spending a few hours with 
the veteran balloonist, Henry Coxwell. The 
only address I had was that of " Henry 
Coxwell, Seaford." Just as I was leaving the 
beach, I beckoned a little girl and inquired 
of her whether she knew where a gentleman 
of the name of Coxwell lived. She looked 
up, and, without answering my question, she 
pointed her finger in the direction of a house, 
where stood a tall, well-knit figure— an old 
man with grey beard, and a skull cap on his 
head ; a black velvet waistcoat— such a 
black velvet waistcoat !— and a frock-coat. 
He seemed to know 
that I was asking for 
him. He waved his 
hand towards me, 
beckoning me to come 
on T and in a very few 
seconds that hand was 
holding mine. It was 
Mr. Coxwell himself, 
who had been watching 
for my arrival. 

"It blows cold over 
the Downs, eh?" he 
said. "Come in. This 
is a lovely spot ; just 
suits me. Why, do you 
know, from my window 
on a bright day, I can 
see the grand stand on 
the race - course over 
the Downs." Then, 
tapping me on the 
shoulder, the veteran 
made that always wel- 
come and suggestive 
remark, u Now, what 
about lunch? JJ 

And what a charm- 
ing little lunch it was ! 
No servant — it was 
her day out, and I was 

V^L xu -1Q. 

glad to learn that, although I was coming, 
a thoughtful 

for her 

had not upset the 
occasional visit to 


(Taken at the hene of his last Ascent,) 



But we had somebody to wait upon us. It 
was an old ex- coastguards man, and a very 
good and kind fellow he was. It was he 
who cooked the delicious Southdown mutton, 
and watched the saucepan to see that the 
potatoes did not get watery ; it was he who 
laid the table and looked after our wants. 
A fine, stalwart, strapping man, though he 
must be fifty if a day, was Mr. Pride, with 
his pea-jacket and top-boots, his ruddy face 
and twinkling ryes. Mr. Coxwell told me what 
a willing help Mr, Pride was \ and the old 
coastguardsman sang out : " Oh, yes ; I 
always heave to and help a ship in distress/' 

The table was cleared. The Southdown 
mutton disappeared, and the fresh - pulled 
celery was a thing of the past ; and then the 
old coastguardsman came in with the glasses, 

** You see, sir," he 
said, turning to me by 
way of explanation, 
^directly we have 
finished dinner on 
board ship we pipe the 

" Aye, aye," said Mr. 

So we lit up our 
pipes, and we "piped 
the grog," and we 
chatted together till 
the sun set over the 

I have seldom lis- 
tened to a more 
delightful story of 
child-life than that told 
to me by Mr. Coxwell 
that wintry afternoon. 
He was born at Would- 
ham Castle, near 
Rochester, on March 
2nd, 1819. 

The little fellow's 
father was a naval 
officer ; and he was 
only two years old 
when he left the par- 
sonage where he wag 

Original from 


born, and went with 

his father on board 

H.M.S. Colossus ; and 

the veteran, as he puffs 

away at his pipe, almost 

remembers with a 

shiver how he used to 

be ducked into the 

water from the stage 

alongside the old " 74." 
One has not been 

sitting and chatting 

long with Mr. Coxwell 

before one is impressed 

with his marvellous 

memory for detail, 

especially in respect to 

matters associated with 

his schooldays. He 

drew a vivid picture of 

the manner in which 

they used to lash the 

soldiers with the cat in 

those old times, when 

the drums and the 

fifes used to play in 

order to drown the 

cries of the unfortunate fellow, who was 

secured to the red-painted triangle. 

Little Coxwell was a plucky lad. He and 
his brother once stood up before a big bully, 
three times their united size, and fought him 
to the bitter end, because he had said an 
unkind word against their father. 

The first balloon he ever saw was that 
used by Mr. Green in an ascent when 
he passed over Chatham Dockyard. It 
was no difficult matter to realize , . 

the picture which the Grand 
Old Man of ballooning drew of 
himself, as a little fellow hurry- 
ing along over the 
fields, with a huge spy- 
glass, some i6in. round 
by 2^ ft. long, almost 
as big as himself, under 
his arm, anxious to get 
a good view. This was 
in 1828, and it was not 
long after that he 
made his first balloon 
himself. He started 
by making little para- 

" You know," said 
Mr. Coxwell, " they 
used to go up in a 
strong wind, instead 
Qf coming down in 


one ; we used to work 
them by contrary 
effect in those days. 

"I may just mention 
that since the descents 
of Professor Baldwin 
a few years ago at 
the Alexandra Palace, 
it has generally been 
supposed that para- 
chuting is practically 
new. Of course this is 
not so, as descents by 
parachute were made 
early in the present 

"My little para- 
chutes used to take 
me half an hour to 
make, and I have 

'a little fellow with a huge spy-glass. 



known them go up a 
thousand feet. Then, 
from parachutes I got 
to making paper 
balloons. My first one 
was a fire balloon ; it 
caught alight. My 
second attempt, how- 
ever, was all right. I 
sent it up from a shel- 
tered spot at the back 
of our stable. This 
balloon was about 
three or four feet in 
diameter, made of 
paper and varnished 
to hold gas. 

"On leaving Chat- 
, tftm I went to schQQl 




at Camberwell, and I used to watch Green 
make his ascents from the Surrey Zoological 
(lardens. I used to get up in a big tree, and 
deliver a sort of little lecture from it to my 
schoolfellows below as to exactly what was 
happening to the balloon ; and as I used to 
sit on one of the branches my feelings even 
then were that I wished some day to take up 
this study myself, though I never had any 
idea of taking to it professionally, 

41 1 had a great ambition to go up with 
Green. Curiously enough, although 1 knew 
him well, he would never take me, I think 
he used to regard me as rattier a dangerous 
young man. He once said, * There is some- 
thing about that young Coxwell's eyes which 
tells me that he wants to get all the informa- 
tion from me that he can, and then turn his 
knowledge to ulterior motives. I would not 
take him up 
for love or 
an as 

I VS&I* TO WAT^H qwt] 

and 1 have known occasions when, rather 
than take me when his car was not full, he 
would carry up a milkman or a policeman. 

" My father died when I was thirteen, He 
had broken three ribs in boarding a Spanish 
ship in the time of Nelson, and I do not 
think he ever really recovered from this. By 
this time, I had changed a blue jacket for a 
black coat, and the question arose as to what 
I should become. One of my sisters sug- 
gested I would make a good clergyman, but 
1 fear this did not meet with my approval. 
All that time I was endeavouring to find out 
what I could about ballooning. I talked of 
nothing else but balloons, and I think I may 
say that even at this age I was fairly well up 
in the science of aerostation. 

(b It was about this time that a remarkably 
large balloon was built by Messrs, Gyc and 
Hughes, after the plans of 
Mr. Green, I was to have 
started for Amsterdam to take 
up a position as a merchant's 
clerk, but I made up my 
mind to see the ascent of this 
balloon first, You may ima- 
gine what it was like, when I 
tell you that thirty-six police- 
men were placed around the 
balloon during its inflation ; 
forty-one iron staves of 561b. 
each were attached to the 
cordage ; and even after the 
policemen had been com- 
pelled to put their staves 
through the meshes to save 
their hands being cut by the 
cords, other persons had to 
be called in to assist. It was 
a magnificent sight when that 
galloon went up, and I was any- 
thing but content the next tnorn- 
ng, after having seen it, to trip 
to Amsterdam to try my hand at 
clerking* * 

Mr. Coxwell went to Amsterdam, 
still suffering from balloon fever, 
The counting-house, however, did 
not agree with him, and when his 
brother one day put into his hand a 
paper containing the account of 
Mr. Green's trip across the Channel 
in a balloon from Vauxhall, his 
enthusiasm was again stirred up. 

He only remained a short time 

n Holland, after which he returned 

to London and began to study 

dentistry. t! You know," said Mr, 

CoOriiJjrfaltat I am a dentist still, 




and it was sometimes very amusing, when I 
used to make my ascents from the Crystal 
Palace, to have a patient call on me at my 
house in Tottenham to have a tooth drawn, 
and ask if I were in ; and then, on my 
arrival, staring at me with amazement and 
astonishment: 'Why, I saw you go up 
in the sky last night ! Are you really Mr, 
Coxwell?' And I can assure you that it 
frequently took me some time to convince 
my visitors that I was really one and the 
same man. 

u My first trip in a balloon was made 
with Mr. Hampton from the White Con- 
duit tiardens, Pcrv 
tonville, on Monday, 
August 19th, 1844. I 
assumed the name of 
( Wells,' in order that 
I might not give too 
much anxiety to my 
friends. This was my 
first real ascent, and 
we descended in a 
meadow belonging to 
Mr. Augustin Rust, at 
East Ham 1 1 all. And 
what a sensation it 
was. You are up, up % 
up, almost before you 
can realise it ! You do 
not appear to move, 
but seem to remain per- 
fectly stationary ; and 
as you are seated in 
the air* the panorama 
of Nature which is 
opened out to you is 
positively indescriba- 
ble. You watch tlie 
green fields, and the 
church spires, and the 
houses all becoming 
smaller and smaller. 
They seem to be going away from you while 
you sit and gaze at them, lost in wonderment. 

** Here, just look at this ! " and the veteran 
shouts out to the old coastguardsman, M Pride, 
heave to with the atlas!" "Ave! Aye! 
Mr. Coxwell!" "Now, there is no getting 
away from that ! " says the veteran, pointing 
to the map, "There you have the highest 
mountains in the world ; there is Everest, 
29,002ft. 3 But see that little balloon above 
the topmost peak j look at it, sir — 37,000ft* — 
that was the biggest ascent I ever made, and 
the greatest height ever attained by any 
balloonist!'* "That is what I call rising a 
bit in the world, eh, sir ! ?I said the old coast- 

Digitized by GoOglc 


(Companion of Mr. Cox well in his hi^h ascent,) 
Fratn a f'hottt. bp A, J. MtlhuUh. 

guardsman. u Ah," said Mr. Coxwell, " but 
unfortunately in this case you have to come 
down in the world again** 1 

Mn Coxwell assured me that he had so 
studied the matter before making this great 
ascent that he was almost prepared for each 
phase of the many great changes involved in 
passing from a dense to a lighter atmosphere, 
up to an elevation where the pressure is so 
extremely reduced that, even at such a height 
as this, the clouds were so few that he and his 
companion, Mr, G la is her, had magnificent 
views of villages and towns—in fact T a little 
world seemed to lie beneath them, u Indeed, 3 * 
he remarked, u once in 
passing over Birming- 
ham at a height of six 
miles, the atmosphere 
was so clear that the 
smoke was to be seen 
coining out of the 

He told me a some- 
what interesting story 
of how the balloonist 
is regarded by a spec- 
tator on terra -firm a. 
" We were coming 
back from an ascent 
near Birmingham," he 
s a i d , "when we 
descended near a rail- 
way station. The 
station-master came up 
to us. ' Are you the 
gent who went up a 
few hours ago, sir ? ' 
he asked, ' Yes,' I 
answered, ( Well,* he 
said, 'it is very curious, 
but a toy balloon passed 
over here about the 
size of my hat about 
half a mile high soon 
after you left' c Oh, that was not a toy 
balloon/ I assured him, Mt was myself and 
Mr. Glaisher, and at the moment you saw us 
we were six miles high! J It seemed rather 
curious to me, because the balloon which 
appeared a toy one to the station-master 
contained from 90,000 to r 00,000 cubic feet 
of gas, and was 85ft. in height and 56ft. in 

'* Pride, heave to w T ith the cigars ! " The 
old man puffed away contemplatively for a 
few moments, then, suddenly turning to me, 
said i— 

4 * I will tell you about the most perilous 
ascent I ever made. It was in 1847, when 




we went up from the Vauxhall Gardens in a 
balloon with over 6oltx weight of fireworks. 
Albert Smic^ who at that time had started 
The Man in the Moon as a rival to Punchy 
for which periodical the late George Augustus 
Sala was busily engaged in making engravings, 
accompanied me with two other gentlemen. 
Yes ; July 7th, 1847. Just before the ascent 
was made a storm was brewing, and the 
manager of the gardens queried as to whether 
it would be safe to make the voyage. I had 
never made a night ascent before, but on being 
appealed to, I decided to go. Up we went, 
discharging the rockets and the Roman candles 
as we ascended, Suddenly the storm burst 
out in all its fury* We were 4,000ft, above the 
surface of the earth. The balloon was rising 
higher and higher* when all at once a flash of 
lightning disclosed the fact that the balloon 
had rent fully 1 6ft., and we were falling head- 
long right over the West -end of London ! 

" For a moment I scarcely knew what to 
do, but soon collecting my thoughts, I flew 
up to the hoop of the balloon, and cut the 
line that connects the safety valve to the 
lower part of the balloon, so that as the gas 
escaped the lower hemisphere formed a 
sort of parachute." (See 
frontispiece,) "I am 
thankful to say that 
the balloon fell in the 
neighbourhood of 
Pi ml i co, the network 
being caught up by 
some scaffold - poles, 
which broke the force 
of the collision. I was 
the only one hurt, and 
that by a bystander, 
from whom I received 
a cut in the hand 
when he was trying to 
extract us from the net- 

11 Albert Smith, who, 
by -the -bye, it might 
interest you to know 
was a dentist like my- 
self, behaved splendidly 
—he never uttered a 
word, never showed a 
sign of fean I venture 
to think he really did 
not know the danger in 
which he was placed. 
Aye, such danger that it 
was a thousand to one 
against our ever escape 

The mention of the late George Augustus 
Sala's name by Mr. Cox well naturally led 
us both to become reminiscent, as readers 
of The Strand Magazine will possibly 
remember that I gave an account of a 
long talk I had with that great journalist 
some two and a half years ago, Mr, Cox- 
well stated that Sala knew more about 
ballooning than any writer he ever met He 
made a study of it when he was a boy, 
and he had a touch of balloon fever before 
he was twenty. It is interesting to chronicle 
the fact that the lectures which the great 
dale gave on ballooning were all written by 
Sala. Sala only went up in a balloon once, 
and that was in 1851, from Kensington Core, 
with a man named Chamberlain. The balloon 
burst and came down with a run ; and ever 
after that, whenever Sala had the chance, not- 
withstanding the great love he had for balloon- 
ingj he always wrote characterizing that pur- 
suit as dangerous unless skilfully managed. 

After Mr. CoxwelTs adventure with Mr, 
Albert Smith, it was suggested that he ought 
to own a balloon of his own. He refused 
for some time, saying that his family would 
strongly object to his becoming a professional. 
However, in 1848, he 
became the director of 
a balloon, which he 
christened the 
* ( Sylph" ; and he made 
his first ascent as a 
professional on April 
10th of that year I 
gathered the interesting 
information from the 
veteran that the 
" Sylph," with three 
other gentlemen and 
himself, would weigh 
1,2541b., comprising 
balloon, netting and car, 
400IL ; the voyagers, 
6i2lb. ; grappling and 
rope gear, 5 alb. ; coats, 
instruments, etc-, 3olb*; 
and balloon, i6olb. 

It was also in this 
year that Mr Coxwell 
fulfilled numerous en- 
gagements in Belgium. 
He used to illustrate 
in Brussels the bom- 
bardment of a city, and 
the detonators which 
he threw out from his 
balloon made a noise 

ing with our lives, 

(Taken at the Crystal Palace after A high ascent,) 

Yrm\ a Wdta, h? y^rtui <t zmw!™, equal to a mne-pounaex 





Fmm a PMt*t&- &y ft. 

He visited the prin- 
cipal towns in Germany 
and Bohemia, including 
a trip to the Field of 
Waterloo. In a volume 
of his reminiscences 
which Mr. Cox well 
handed to me, the 
author gives a very 
vivid description of his 
impressions of the Field 
of Waterloo as seen 
from a balloon. 

A balloon view of Water- 
loo, with the surrounding 
country and Iwjld ace livi lies, 
fails entirely to convey the 
martial associations which 
those noted Belgic plains 
would lie expected to 

We felt hardly reconciled 
to the fact that on thai 
cluster of fields, which 
looked so rural and culti- 
vated, the fate of Europe 
had been derided in so great 
a sanguinary contest. 

As our survey happened 
to be made in the same 
month as that on which 
the memorable tattle was 
fought, the gene riil appear 
ances of Nature could not 

have been very dissimilar to whai they were on June 
17th, 1815, Jwat when the British infantry liivcHiacked 
on the rising ground near the villus and the 
cavalry rested in tVmse hollows in the rear. 

It is true we gazed upon the landscape which was 
comparatively tame when unenlivened by the arms of 
Wellington, B I richer ? and Napoleon. 

An aerial glance at that g^eat historical picture 
would have indeed l>een a sight worth seeing. Hut 
the mere bird's-eye view of the sight was somewhat 

Could we have seen the down-trodden corn and 
rye, the clouds of smoke, the prancing horses and 
helnieted riders, the splendid French columns im- 
petuously advancing against the solid squares of red — 
could we have heard the din and roar of musketry 
and cannon* and the wild hurrah of the last grand 
charge, then indeed the scene would have apptnre<l 
fresh and imposing. Our bird Wye view of Waterloo, 
so far Fnnn ljeing lively and soul -stirring, was rather 
of a philosophical and contemplative character. 

One could not juss over the ruins of Uougomnnt, 
or the farm-house of La Haye Saint, wiihuut thinking 
of the dust and ashes of countrymen and foes w r hich 
were there scattered in profusion ; when we recoi- 
led cd that on the small surface of two square miles 
50,000 men and horses were ascertained to be lying, 
we can form some idea of the mouldering remains 
which lie l^encatli the ripening crops which presented 
themselves to our view. 

The sLtn had just set un the peaceful plains in rosy 
and majestic gTandeur. The glorious King of Day 
declined also on June tSth T thirty three years before 
we passed over in a balloon. I kit how different the 
scene ! 

On that evening after the Ijatlle, when the cries of 

Digitized by LiOOglC 


the wounded filled the air, 
as the roar of artillery 
ceased, and as night ap- 
proached, the earth was 
red dyed and sodden ; but 
on this, inviting cheers of 
welcome came to us on all 
sides, and at Waterloo we 
met with a most friendly 

]t was delightful to 
bear the veteran read- 
ing out his account of 
this unique visit to 
Waterloo. It was an 
impressive little pic- 
ture—the sun setting 
over the sea, and cast- 
ing its dying beams 
upon the face of the 
grand old balloonist, 
and the coastguards- 
man standing there 
close at hand. The 
old guardsman could 
only shout out an 
enthusiastic *' Hear! 
hear," and bring his fist 
down upon the table, 
which made the sen- 
shells rattle in a corner 
near the window, 
Then the veteran, after he had once more 
reviewed the hour he had spent over that 
ever-famous battlefield, crossed the room, 
and opened the door and looked out quietly 
upon the sea, as though watching it all again, 
11 Now, then/' he said, " heave to, we must 
not get sentimental Pass the tobacco-box, 
Pride." "Aye, aye, sir/' and the tobacco- 
box was piped, or rather the tobacco that 
was in it, 

" I returned to England/' continued Mr. 
Coxwell, "from Germany, in 1051, at the 
end of the Great Exhibition. They told me 
the Exhibition was over, and I had come too 
late. ' Have I ? ' I said ; ' you shall see my 
name going up three times a week next year ; 
and I can assure you my promise came true. 
Early in the season, about Whitsuntide, Mr, 
Goulston had made a very fme new silk 
balloon, but he was unfortunately killed in 
the first ascent of it This ascent occurred 
from Cremorne Gardens. The proprietor 
telegraphed to me to know if I would go up 
in Goulston's balloon in the very car in 
which he lost his life, 1 went down to 
inspect the balloon, and said : c I shall have 
no objection whatever, 1 But I had a shock, 
too, I remember just at this moment that 
when I lwked into that car I saw some of 
Original from 




poor Goulston's brains which they had failed 
to take away, I took up one of (ioulston's 
men to take charge of the necessary property. 
I went up about a mile. This was noised 
abroad, and engagements quickly followed. 

" One of the four places I used to go up 
from was the ( Eagle/ in the City Road. I 
remember an ascent I once made with old 
Conquest, die father of the present George 

demanded £2 for the damage we had done. 
We had a long argument with him, and 
I offered him a glass of wine, which he 
refused. Of course, we had not done a 
shilling's-worth of damage to his hedge. He 
made a tremendous row, and while he was 
noising, I quietly asked a bystander to bring 
in the grappling-iron out of the hedge, and, to 
their utter astonishment, sailed merrily away!" 

s &. 


l OFFttfCftU HIM A l.LAVi iH IV1.\J- 

Conquest. It was his birthday, and so 
we determined to commemorate it in the 
air — Mr. Conquest, myself, and Mr. John 
Allan. We took up some champagne with 
us. We had so arranged our trip that 
we should return to the ( Eagle', and appear 
on the stage of a theatre before the audience 
after our aerial flight. We descended 
at a spot near Barnet The grappling-gear 
lodged in a hedge, and a n Limber of people 
were standing near. A tall, gaunt Yorkshire- 
man, with a long, heavy stick, rushed up to 
us with a number of his fellow-labourers, and 
Vol kL-17 

Mr, Cox well made his first appearance at 
the Crystal Palace in 1859, whilst his last 
ascent took place in 1885, when his balloon 
sailed round the city and suburbs of York, 

So many ascents has this born balloonist 
made that he is practically unable to chronicle 
them all His line, holding the grappling-iron, 
has been caught in a fog by a passing fishing- 
boat, swaying the balloon to and fro to the 
extreme danger of its occupant He has 
ascended Wttjfft"l«ffP r Majesty and the late 

Priiupnmfif fi^lpil^ft T for this ~" 
sion he christened "Queen at Leamington. 




Mr. Coxwell is not likely to forget the 
somewhat sensational experiences connected 
with this ascent He had arranged to make 
captive ascents as the Queen and Prince 
Consort came past in their carriage during 
their progress through Warwickshire. This 
was done, and afterwards the balloon was held 
down to have a fresh supply of gas to enable 
it to make a final ascent in the evening. 
During that time a fresh breeze had sprung 
up, and the ascending power of the balloon 
was so much less than he had expected, that 
he had to ascend alone. The balloon struck 
against the spire of a church about looyds. 
from the gardens whence the ascent was made, 
He flew to the hoop in order to look up 
the neck of the balloon to make sure the 
silk was not torn. It seemed all right. 
He sailed away for twenty miles, coming 
d>wn in a most remote district in the 

neighbourhood of Chester- 

" The point is this," said 
Mr Coxwell, when speak- 
ing of this incident, 4i that 
the weather-cock of that 
church had been taken off 
a day or two previous for 
regilding. Had it not been 
taken down, my balloon 
would have struck the 
steeple in such a position 
that it would have been 
rent by the weather-cock 
from top to bottom/ 5 

Mr. Coxwell made many 
important surveys for the 
British Association ; and 
he merrily referred to the 
notions of a late Professor, 
who had an idea of his 
own for ascending six 
miles in an old balloon, 
which he had picked up 
at Cremorne Gardens. Mr, 
Coxwell, at his own ex- 
pense, built a balloon and 
materially assisted the 
British Association in 
their scientific work. 

As far back as 1854 Mr. 
Coxwell demonstrated in 
public a new plan of sig- 
nalling in the air for use 
in time of war + One of 
the newspapers of that 
time, after describing the 
aeronaut's venture, goes 
on to explain as follows : 
u The aeronaut, who set in operation once 
more his signals, was well understood in 
the working of these by those who were in 
possession of the key to them ; and they re- 
semble somewhat those which w T ere formerly 
used on the roof of the Admiralty. When he 
had reached a considerable altitude he 
liberated a number of pigeons which, he 
said, were usually auxiliaries for warfare. 
The idea is ingenious, and we must admit 
that the signals were worked with much 

His first real ascent in a military balloon 
was made in 1863, and, curiously enough, a 
canvas of the picture of this ascent forms 
the blind of the principal room of the 
veteran's cottage at .Sea ford. This room is 
on a level with the highway, and for some 
time Mr-.C^j^ll^p'^i^noy^ by people 
cominy^M^JkiitgJ' IfttoWrHom, knowing 



that it was the famous balloonist who lived 
there* The window is a large one, and the 
canvas just covers it up entirely, so at night 
Mr, Coxwell sits quietly within doors, and 

^500 ; now you can make them of muslin at 
a cost of from ^150 to ,£200* I do not 
think it will ever become fashionable* Balloon- 
ing is really an art. People look up at a 


chatting away with a friend, always baying 

before him a view of his ascent from Thorn - 
hill, at Aldershot. 

Before leaving Mr. Coxwell I asked if he 
considered ballooning would ever become 
popular or a fashionable pastime. lf Well,'* 
he said, " ballooning is remarkably popular 
to-day to a certain extent, as it is now more 
used for acrobatic purposes and fancy act-s, 
A balloon is a costly a (fair. When I was 
a young man they used to be made of 
expensive silk, and a tfoocl balloon would cost 

balloon and think how easy it must be to sail 
along at the rate of eighty miles an hour, 
which I have done in my day. Then the 
great risk has always to be considered ; and 
although people nowadays will risk anything 
to be fashionable, I do not think they will go 
as far as ballooning. But here is a curious 
fact: ballooning is of value for some pul- 
monary complaints— people who suffer from 
asthma. You see, you get into such pure 
air, and I know I always felt better after an 
ascent ! " 

by Google 

Original from 

Rodney Stone. 




HAVE told you something 
about Friar's Oak, and about 
the life that we led there. 
Now that my memory goes 
back to the old place it would 
gladly linger, for every thread 
which I draw from the skein of the past 
brings out half-a-dozen others that were 
entangled with it. I was in two minds when 
I began whether I had enough in me to 
make a book of, and now I know that I 
could write one about Friar's Oak alone, and 
the folk whom I knew in my childhood. 
They were hard and uncouth, some of them, 
I doubt not ; and yet, seen through the 
golden haze of time, they all seem sweet and 
lovable. There was our good vicar, Mr. 
Jefferson, who loved the whole world save 
only Mr. Slack, the Baptist minister of 
Clayton, and there was kindly Mr. Slack, 
who was all men's brother save only of Mr. 
Jefferson, the vicar of Friar's Oak. Then 
there was Monsieur Rudin, the French 
Royalist refugee who lived over on the 
Pangdean road, and who, when the news of a 
victory came in, was convulsed with joy 
because we had beaten Buonaparte, and 
shaken with rage because we had beaten the 
French, so that after the Nile he wept for a 
whole day out of delight and then for another 
one out of fury, alternately clapping his 
hands and stamping his feet. Well I re- 
member his thin, upright figure and the way 
in which he jauntily twirled his little cane, 
for cold and hunger could not cast him 
down, though we knew that he had his share 
of both. Yet he was so proud and had such 
a grand manner of talking, that no one dared 
to offer him a cloak or a meal. I can see 
his face now, with a flush over each craggy 
cheek-bone when the butcher made him the 
present of some ribs of beef. He could not 
but take it, and yet whilst he was stalking off 
he threw a proud glance over his shoulder at 
the butcher, and he said, " Monsieur, I have 
a dog ! " Yet it was Monsieur Rudin and 
.lot his dog who looked plumper for a week 
to come. 

Copyright, 1S96, by A. Conan Doy 

Then I remember Mr. Paterson, the 
farmer, who was what you would now call 
a Radical, though at that time some called 
him a Priestley-ite, and some a Fox-ite, and 
nearly everybody a traitor. It certainly 
seemed to me at the time to be very wicked 
that a man should look glum when he heard 
of a British victory ; and when they burned 
his straw image at the gate of his farm, Boy 
Jim and I were among those who lent a 
hand. But we were bound to confess that 
he was game, though he might be a traitor, 
for down he came, striding into the midst of 
us with his brown coat and his buckled 
shoes, and the fire beating upon his grim, 
schoolmaster face. My word, how he rated 
us, and how glad we were at last to sneak 
quietly away. 

" You livers of a lie ! " said he. " You and 
those like you have been preaching peace for 
nigh two thousand years, and cutting throats 
the whole time. If the money that is lost in 
taking French lives were spent in saving 
English ones, «you would have more right to 
burn candles in your windows. Who are 
you that dare to come here to insult a law- 
abiding man ? " 

" We are the people of England ! " cried 
young Master Ovington, the son of the Tory 

" You ! you horse-racing, cock-fighting 
ne'er-do-weel ! Do you presume to talk for 
the people of England ? They are deep, 
strong, silent stream, and you are the scum, 
the bubbles, the poor, silly froth that floats 
upon the surface." 

We thought him very wicked then, but, 
looking back, I am not sure that we were 
not very wicked ourselves. 

And then there were the smugglers ! The 
Downs swarmed with them, for since there 
might be no lawful trade betwixt France and 
England, it had all to run in that channel. 
I have been up on St. John's Common upon 
a dark night, and, lying among the bracken, 
I have seen as many as seventy mules and a 
man at the head of each go flitting past me 
as silently as fish in a stream. Not one of 
them but bore its two ankers of the right 
French cognac, or its bale of silk of Lyons 

and to^EftsiWmflKfflEArf knew Dan 

le r in the United States of America. 




Scales, the head of them, and I knew Tom 
Hislop, the riding officer, and I remember 
the night they met. 

" Do you fight, Dan ? T ' asked Torn. 
11 Yes, Tom ; thou must fight for it. ?J 
On which Tom drew his pistol, and blew 
Dan's brains out. 

11 It was a sad thing to do," he said after- 
wards, " but I knew Dan was too good a 
man for me, for we tried it out before." 

It was lorn who paid a poet from Brighton 
to write the lines for the tombstone, which 
we all thought were very true and good, 
beginning >- 

Alas ! Swift flew the fatal lead 

Which j.u-iVL'l ibnm^h tlu* y.nnii; mini's head. 

He instant foil, resigned his hrcath, 

And closed his languid eyes in death. 

There was more of it, and I daresay it is all 

still to be read in Pat- 
ch am Churchyard* 

One day, about the 
time of our Cliffe Royal 
adventure, I was seated 
in the cottage looking 
round at the curios which 
my father had fastened 
on to the walls, and wish- 
ing, like the lazy lad that 
I was, that Mr, Lilly had 
died before ever he wrote 
his I.atin grammar, when 
my mother, who was 
sitting knitting in the 
window, gave a little cry 
of surprise, 

"Good gracious ! w she 
cried. " What a vulgar- 
looking woman ! " 

It was so rare to hear 
my mother say a hard 
word against anybody 
(unless it were General 
Buonaparte) that I was 
across the room and at 
the window in a jump. 
A pony-chaise was com- 
ing slowly down the 
village street, and in it 
was the queerest-looking 
person that I had ever 
seen. She was very stout, 
with a face that was of 
so dark a red that it 
shaded away into purple 
over the nose and cheeks. 
She wore a great hat with 
a white curling ostrich 
feather, and from under 
its brim her two bold, 
black eyes stared out with a look of anger 
and defiance as if to tell the folk that she 
thought less of them than they could do 
of her. She had some sort of scarlet 
pelisse with white swansdown about her 
neck, and she held the reins slack in her 
hands, while the pony wandered from side to 
side of the road as the fancy took him. Each 
time the chaise swayed, her head with the 
great hat swayed also, so that sometimes we 
saw the crown of it and sometimes the brim. 
"What a dreadful sight!" cried my 

44 What is amiss with her, mother?" 
11 Heaven forgive me if I misjudge her, 
Rodney, but I think that the unfortunate 


"Why," I cried, "she has pulled the chaise 



up at the smithy. Ill find out all the news 
for you" ; and, catching up my cap, away I 

Champion Harrison had been shoeing a 
horse at the forge door, and when I got into 
the street I could see him with the creature's 
hoof still under his arm, and the rasp in his 
hand, kneeling down amid the white parings. 
The woman was beckoning him from the 
chaise, and he staring up at her with the 
queerest expression upon his face. Presently 
he threw down his rasp and went across to 

She looked at Jim, and I never saw such 
eyes in a human head, so large, and black, 
and wonderful Boy as I was, I knew that, 
in spite of that bloated face, this woman had 
once been very beautiful. She put out a 
hand, with all the fingers going as if she were 
p laying on the harpsichord, and she touched 
Jim on the shoulder. 

'* I hope — I hope you're well," she 

" Very well, ma'am," said Jim, staring from 
her to his uncle. 


her, standing by the wheel and shaking his 
head as he talked to her. For my part, I 
slipped into the smithy, where Boy Jim was 
finishing the shoe, and I watched the neat- 
ness of his work and the deft way in which 
he turned up the caul kens* When he had 
done with it he carried it out, and there was 
the strange woman still talking with his uncle* 

u Is that he?" I heard her ask. 

Champion Harrison nodded. 

11 And happy too ? " 

u Yes, ma'am, I thank you." 

li Nothing that you crave for ? " 

" Why , no, ma am, I have all that ] lack/* 

"That will do, Jim," said his uncle, in a 

stem voice, " Blow up the forge again, for 

that shoe wants reheating*" 

Rut it seemed ss if the woman had some- 



eyes gleamed, and her head tossed, while 
the smith with his two big hands outspread 
seemed to be soothing her as best he could. 
For a long time they whispered until at last 
she seemed to be satisfied. 

" To-morrow, then ? " she cried loud out. 

"To-morrow," he answered. 

" You keep your word and I'll keep mine," 
said she, and dropped the lash on the pony's 
back. The smith stood with the rasp in his 
hand, looking after her until she was just a 
little red spot on the white road. Then he 
turned, and I never saw his face so grave. 

" Jim," said he, " that's Miss Hinton, who 
has come to live at The Maples, out Anstey 
Cross way. She's taken a kind of a fancy to 
you, Jim, and maybe she can help you on a bit 
I promised her that you would go over and 
see her to-morrow." 

" I don't want her help, uncle, and I don't 
want to see her." 

44 But I've promised, Jim, and you wouldn't 
make me out a liar. She does but want to 
talk with you, for it is a lonely life she 

4; What would she want to talk with such 
as me about ? " 

" Why, I cannot say that, but she seemed 
very set upon it, and women have their 
fancies. There's young Master Stone here 
who wouldn't refuse to go and see a good 
lady, I'll warrant, if he thought he might 
better his fortune by doing so." 

44 Well, uncle, I'll go if Roddy Stone will 
go with me," said Jim. 

" Of course he'll go. Won't you, Master 

So it ended in my saying " yes," and back I 
went with all my news to my mother, who 
dearly loved a little bit of gossip. She shook 
her head when she heard where I was 
going, but she did not say nay, and so it 
was settled. 

It was a good four miles of a walk, but 
when we reached it you would not wish to 
see a more cosy little house : all honeysuckle 
and creepers, with a wooden porch and 
lattice windows. A common-looking woman 
opened the door for us. 

44 Miss Hinton cannot see you," said she. 

" But she asked us to come," said Jim. 

44 1 can't help that," cried the woman, in a 
rude voice. 44 1 tell you that she can't see 

We stood irresolute for a minute. 

44 Maybe you would just tell her I am 
here," said Jim, at last. 

44 Tell her ! How am I to tell her when 
she couldn't so much as hear a pistol in her 

ears ? Try and tell her yourself, if you have 
a mind to." 

She threw open a door as she spoke, and 
there, in a reclining chair at the further end 
of the room, we caught a glimpse of a figure 
all lumped together, huge and shapeless, 
with tails of black hair hanging down. The 
sound of dreadful, swine-like breathing fell 
upon our ears. It was but a glance, and 
then we were off hot-foot for home. As for 
me, I was so young that I was not sure 
whether this was funny or terrible ; but when 
I looked at Jim to see how he took it, he was 
looking quite white and ill. 

44 You'll not tell anyone, Roddy," said he. 

44 Not unless it's my mother." 

44 1 won't even tell my uncle. I'll say she 
was ill, the poor lady ! It's enough that we 
should have seen her in her shame, without 
its being the gossip of the village. It makes 
me feel sick and heavy at heart." 

44 She was so yesterday, Jim." 

44 Was she ? I never marked it. But I 
know that she has kind eyes and a kind 
heart, for I saw the one in the other when 
she looked at me. Maybe it's the want of a 
friend that has driven her to this." 

It blighted his spirits for days, and when it 
had all gone from my mind it was brought 
back to me by his manner. But it was not 
to be our last memory of the lady with the 
scarlet pelisse, for before the week was out 
Jim came round to ~sk me if I would again 
go up with him. 

44 My uncle has had a letter," said he. 
44 She would speak with me, and I would be 
easier if you came with me, Rod." 

For me it was only a pleasure outing, but 
I could see, as we drew near the house, that 
Jim was troubling in his mind lest we should 
find that things were amiss. His fears were 
soon set at rest, however, for we had scarce 
clicked the garden gate before the woman 
was out of the door of the cottage and 
running down the path to meet us. She 
was so strange a figure, with some sort of 
purple wrapper on, and her big, flushed face 
smiling out of it, that I might, if I had been 
alone, have taken to my heels at the sight of 
her. Even Jim stopped for a moment as if 
he were not very sure of himself, but her 
hearty ways soon set us at our ease. 

44 It is indeed good of you to come and 
see an old, lonely woman/' said she, "and I 
owe you an apology that I should give you 
a fruitless journey on Tuesday, but in a sense 
you were yourselves the cause of it, since 
the thought of your coming had excited me, 
and any excitement throws me mto a nervous 

i 3 6 


fever My poor nerves ! You can see your- 
selves how they serve me," 

She hdd out her twitching hands as she 
spoke. Then she passed one of them 
through Jim's arm, and walked with him Up 
the path. 

"You must let me know you, and know 
you well," said she, "Your uncle and aunt 
are quite old acquaintances of mine, and 
though you cannot remember me, I have held 
you in my arms when you were an infant. 
Tell me, little man," she added, turning to 
me, *' what do you call your friend ? " 

"Boy Jim, ma'am," 
said I. 

lt Then if you will 
not think me for- 
ward, I will cr^ll you 
Boy Jim also. We 
elderly people have 
omr privileges, you 
know, And now 
you shall come m 
with me, and we 
will take a dish of 
tea together." 

She led the way 
into a cosy room — 
the same which we 
had caught a 
glimpse of when 
last we came — and 
there, in the middle, 
was a table with 
white napery, and 
shining glass, and 
gleaming china, and 
red-c h eeked app I e s 
piled upon a centre- 
dish , and a great 
plateful of smoking 
muffins which the 
cross - faced maid 
had just carried in. 
You can think that 
we did justice to 
all the good things, 
and Miss H in ton 

would ever keep pressing us to pass our 
cup and to fill our plate- I'm ice during our 
meal she rose from her chair and withdrew 
into a cupboard at the end of the room, 
and each time 1 saw Jim's face cloud, for 
we heard a gentle dink of glass against glass, 

"Come now, little man," said she to me, 
when the table had been cleared "Why 
are you looking round so much ? :t 

" Because there are so many pretty things 
upon the walls." 

" And which do you think the prettiest of 
them ? " 

** Why, that ! " said I, pointing to a picture 
which hung opposite to me. It was of a tall 
and slender girl, with the rosiest cheeks and 
tho tendcrest eyes — so daintily dressed, too, 
that I had never seen anything more perfect. 
She had a posy of flowers in her hand and 
another one was lying upon the planks of 
wood upon which she was standing* 

* 4 Oh, that's the prettiest, is it ? " said she, 
laughing, " Well, now, walk up to it, and 
let us hear what is writ beneath it." 

I did as she 
asked, and read 
out : " Miss Polly 
H in ton, as P*gg}\ 
in * The Country 
Wife,' played for 
her benefit at the 
Hay market Theatre, 
September 14th, 

"It's a play- 
actress," said I. 

II Oh, you rude 
little boy, to say it 
in such a tone," 
said she, "as if a 
pi a y-ac tress was n't 
as good as anyone 
else. Why, 'twas 
but the other day 
that the Duke of 
Clarence, who may 
come to call him- 
self King of Eng- 
land, married Mrs* 
Jordan, who was 
herself only a play- 
actress. And whom 
think you that this 
one is ? " 

She stood under 
the picture with her 
arms folded across 
her great body, and 
her big, black eyes 
looking from one to the other of us + 

11 Why, where are your eyes?" she cried at 
last, H I was Miss Fully H in ton of the 
Hay market Theatre. And perhaps you never 
heard the name before ? " 

We were compelled to confess that we 
never had. And the very name of play* 
actress had filled us both with a kind of 
vague horror.- like .the epuntry-bred folk that 
we were, Torus' Uiey! jyers a class apart, to 
be hltffeEgiHM with the 




wrath of the Almighty hanging over them 
like a thundercloud. Indeed, His judgments 
seemed to be in visible operation before us 
when we looked upon what this woman was, 
and what she had been. 

" Well," said she, laughing like one who 
is hurt, " you have no cause to say anything, 
for I read on your faces what you have been 
taught to think of me. So this is the up- 
bringing that you have had, Jim, to think evil 
of that which you do not understand ! I wish 
you had been in the theatre that very night 
with Prince Florizel and four Dukes in the 
boxes, and all the wits and macaronis of 
London rising at me in the pit If Lord 
Avon had not given me a cast in his carriage, 
I had never got my flowers back to my 
lodgings in York Street, Westminster. And 
now two little country lads are sitting in 
judgment upon me ! " 

Jim's pride brought a flush on to his cheeks, 
for he did not like to be called a country lad 
or to have it supposed that he was so far 
behind the grand folk in London. 

44 1 have never been inside a play-house," 
said he ; "I know nothing of them." 

" Nor I either." 

" Well," said she, " I am not in voice, and 
it is ill to play in a little room with but two 
to listen, but you must conceive me to be the 
Queen of the Peruvians, who is exhorting her 
countrymen to rise up against the Spaniards 
who are oppressing them." 

And straightway that coarse, swollen woman 
became a queen, the grandest, haughtiest 
queen that you could dream of, and she 
turned upon us with such words of fire, such 
lightning eyes and sweeping of her white hand, 
that she held us spellbound in our chairs. 
Her voice was soft, and sweet, and persuasive 
at the first, but louder it rang and louder as it 
spoke of wrongs and freedom and the joys of 
death in a good cause, until it thrille*! into my 
every nerve, and I asked nothing more than 
to run out of the cottage and to die then 
and there in the cause of my country. And 
then in an instant she changed. She was a 
poor woman now, who had lost her only child 
and who was bewailing it. Her voice was 
full of tears, and what she said was so simple, 
so true, that we both seemed to see the dead 
babe stretched there on the carpet before us, 
and we could have joined in with words of pity 
and of grief. And then, before our cheeks were 
dry, she was back into her old self again. 

" How like you that, then ? " she cried. 
"That was my way in the days when Sally 
Siddons would turn green at the name of 
Polly Hinton. It's a fine play, is ' Pizarro.' " 

" And who wrote it, ma'am ? " 

" Who wrote it ? I never heard. What 
matter who did the writing of it ! But there 
are some great lines for one who knows how 
they should be spoken." 

" And you play no longer, ma'am ? " 

" No, Jim, I left the boards when — when I 
was weary of them. But my heart goes back 
to them sometimes. It seems to me there 
is no smell like that of the hot oil in the 
footlights and of the oranges in the pit But 
you are sad, Jim." 

"It was but the thought of that poor 
woman and her child." 

" Tut, never think about her ! I will soon 
wipe her from your mind. This is Miss 
Priscilla Tomboy^ from 'The Romp.' You 
must conceive that the mother is speaking, and 
that the forward young minx is answering." 

And she began a scene between the two 
of them, so exact in voice and manner that 
it seemed to us as if there were really two 
folk before us : the stern old mother with her 
hand up like an ear-trumpet, and her flounc- 
ing, bouncing daughter. Her great figure 
danced about with a wonderful lightness, and 
she tossed her head and pouted her lips as 
she answered back to the old, bent figure 
that addressed her. Jim and I had forgotten 
our tears, and were holding our ribs before 
she came to the end of it 

" That is better," said she, smiling at our 
laughter. " I would not have you go back 
to Friar's Oak with long faces, or maybe they 
would not let you come to me again." 

She vanished into her cupboard, and came 
out with a bottle and glass which she placed 
upon the table. 

"You are too young for strong waters," 
she said, " but this talking gives one a dry- 
ness, and " 

Then it was that Boy Jim did a wonderful 
thing. He rose from his chair and he laid 
his hand upon the bottle. 

" Don't ! " said he. 

She looked him in the face, and I can still 
see those black eyes of hers softening before 
his gaze. 

" Am I to have none ? " 

"Please, don't." 

With a quick movement she wrested the 
bottle out of his hand and raised it up so 
that for a moment it entered my head that 
she was about to drink it off. Then she 
flung it through the open lattice, and we 
heard the crash of it on the path outside. 

" There, Jim ! " said she ; " does that 
satisfy you? It's long since anyone cared 
whether I drank or na n 





M You are too good and kind for that," 
s:iid he, 

"Good!" she cried. "Well, I love that 
you should think me so. And it would 
make you happier if I kept from the brandy, 
Jim? Well, then, I'll make you a promise., 
if you'll make me one in return," 

" What's that, miss?" 

u No drop shall pass my lips, Jim, if you 
will swear, wet or shine, blow or snow, to 
come up here twice in every week that I may 
see you and speak with you, for, indeed, 
there are times when I am very lonesome." 

So the promise was made, and very faith- 
fully did Jim keep it, for many a time when 
I have wanted him to go fishing or rabbit- 
snaring, he has remembered that it was his 
day for Miss Hinton, and has tramped off to 
Anstey Cross. At first I think that she found 
her share of the bargain hard to keep, and I 
have seen Jim come back with a black face 
on him as if things were going amiss. But 
after a time the fight was won, as all fights 
are won if one does but fight long enough, 
and in the year before my father came back 
Miss Hinton had become another, woman. 
And it was not her ways only, but herself 

as well, for from being the person that I 
have described, she became in one twelve- 
month as fine a looking lady as there was in 
the whole country-side. Jim was prouder of 
it by far than of anything he had had a hand 
in in his life, but it was only to me that he 
ever spoke about it, for he had that tender- 
ness towards her that one has for those 
whom one has helped. And she helped him 
also, for by her talk of the world and of what 
she had seen, she took his mind away from 
the Sussex country-side and prepared it for a 
broader life beyond. So matters stood 
between them at the time when peace was 
made and my father came home from the sea. 



Many a woman's knee was on the ground, 
and many a woman's soul spent itself in joy 
and thankfulness when the news came with 
the fall of the leaf in 1801 that the prelimi- 
naries of peace had been settled. All ling- 
land waved her gladness by day and twinkled 
it by nighjt^-JE^'eirjiJn.Jittle Friers Oak we 

u* I Ik 



every window, with a big G.R. guttering in 
*the wind over the door of the inn. Folk were 
weary of the war, for we had been at it for 
eight years, taking Holland, and Spain, and 
France each in turn and all together. All 
that we had learned during that time was that 
our little army was no match for the French 
on land, and that our large navy was more 
than a match - for them upon the water. 
We had gained some credit, which we 
were sorely in need of after the American 
business \ and a few Colonies, which were 
welcome also for 
the same reason ; 
but our debt had 
gone on rising and 
our consols sinking, 
until even Pitt stood 
aghast. Still, if we 
had known that 
there never could 
be peace between 
Napoleon and our- 
selves, and that this 
was only the end 
of a round and not 
of the battle, we 
should have been 
better advised had 
we fought it out 
without a break, As 
it was, the French 
got back the 20,000 
good seamen whom 
we had captured, 
and a fine dance 
they led us with their 
Boulogne flotillas 
and fleets of inva- 
sion before we were 
able to catch them 

My father, as I 
remember him best, 
was a tough s strong 
little man, of no 
great breadth, but 
solid and well put 
together. His face 

was burned of a reddish colour, as bright as 
a flower-pot, and in spite of his age (for he 
was only forty at the time of which I S[>eak) 
it was shot with lines which deepened if he 
were in any way perturbed, so that I have 
seen him turn on the instant from a youngish 
man to an elderly. His eyes especially were 
meshed round with wrinkles, as is natural 
for one who had puckered them nil his life in 
facing foul wind and bitter weather* These 

eyes were, perhaps, his strangest feature, for 
they were of a very clear and beautiful blue, 
which shone the brighter out of that ruddy 
setting, By nature he must have been a fair- 
skinned man j for his upper brow, where his 
hat came over it, was as white as mine, and 
his close-cropped hair was tawny. 

He had served, as he was proud to eay t in 
the last of our ships which had been chased 
out of the Mediterranean in '97, and in the 
first which had re-entered it in '98. He was 
under Miller, as third lieutenant of the Theseus, 

when our fleet, like 
a pack of eager fox- 
hounds in a covert, 
was dashing from 
Sicily to Syria and 
back again to Naples, 
trying to pick up the 
lost scent With the 
same good fighting 
man he served at 
the Nile, where the 
men of his com- 
mand sponged and 
rammed and trained 
until, when the last 
tricolour had come 
down, they hove up 
the sheet anchor and 
fell dead asleep upon 
the top of each 
other under the 
capstan bars. Then, 
as a second lieu- 
tenant, he was in 
one of those grim 
three - deckers with 
powder - blackened 
hulls and crimson 
scupper holes, their 
spare cables tied 
round their keels 
and over their bul- 
warks to hold them 
together, which 
carried the news into 
my kath^p/' the Bay of Naples, 

From thence, as a 
reward for his services, he was transferred 
as first lieutenant to the Aurora frigate, 
engaged in cutting off supplies from Genoa, 
and in her he still remained until long after 
peace was declared. 

How well I can remember his home- 
coming ! Though it is now eight-and -forty 
years ago, it is clearer to me than the doings 
of last week, for the memory of an old man 

is lik !i^ f 5lTO^mG^.W ch shows out 



what is at a distance and blurs all that is 

My mother had been in a tremble ever 
since the first rumour of the preliminaries 
came to our ears, for she knew that he might 
come as soon as his message. She said little, 
but she saddened my life by insisting that I 
should be for ever clean and tidy. With 
every rumble of wheels, too, her eyes would 
glance towards the door and her hands steal 
up to smooth her pretty black hair. She had 
embroidered a white " Welcome " upon a 
blue ground, with an anchor in red upon 
each side, and a border of laurel leaves ; and 
this was to hang upon the two lilac bushes 
which flanked the cottage door. He could 
not have left the Mediterranean before we 
had this finished, and every morning she 
looked to see if it were in its place and ready 
to be hanged. 

But it was a weary time before the peace 
was ratified, and it was April of next year 
before our great day came round to us. It 
had been raining all morning, I remember — 
a soft spring rain, which sent up a rich smell 
from the brown earth and pattered pleasantly 
upon the budding chestnuts behind our 
cottage. The sun had shone out in the 
evening, and I had come down with my 
fishing-rod (for I had promised Boy Jim to 
go with him to the fa ill-stream), when what 
should I see but a post-chaise with two 
smoking horses at the gate, and there in the 
open door of it were my mother's black 
skirt and her little feet jutting out, with two 
blue arms for a waist-belt, and all the rest of 
her buried in the chaise. Away I ran for the 
motto, and I pinned it up on the bushes as 
we had agreed, but when I had finished there 
were the skirts and the feet and the blue arms 
just the same as before. 

" Here's Rod," said my mother at last, 
struggling down on . to the ground again. 
" Roddy, darling, here's your father ! " 

I saw the red face and the kindly, light- 
blue eyes looking out at me. 

u Why, Roddy, lad, you were but a child 
and we kissed good-bye when last we met, 
but I suppose we must put you on a different 
rating now. I'm right glad from my heart to 
see you, dear lad, and as to you, sweet- 
heart " The blue arms flew out and 

there were the skirt and the two feet fixed 
in the door again. 

" Here are the folk coming, Anson," said 
my mother, blushing. " Won't you get out 
and come in with us ? " 

And then suddenly it came home to us 
both that for all his cheery face he had never 

moved more than his arms, and that his leg 
was resting on the opposite seat of the chaise. 

" Oh, Anson, Anson ! " she cried. 

"Tut, 'tis but the bone of my leg," said 
he, taking his knee between his hands, and 
lifting it round. " I got it broke in the Bay, 
but the surgeon has fished it and spliced it, 
though it's a bit crank yet Why, bless her 
kindly heart, if I haven't turned her from 
pink to white. You can see for yourself that 
it's nothing." 

He sprang out as he spoke, and with one 
leg and a staff he hopped swiftly up the path, 
and under the laurel-bordered motto, and so 
over his own threshold for the first time for 
five years. When the postboy and I had 
carried up the sea-chest and the two canvas 
bags, there he was sitting in his arm-chair by 
the window in his old, weather-stained blue 
coat My mother was weeping over his poor 
leg, and he patting her hair with one brown 
hand. His other he threw round my waist, 
and drew me to the side of his chair. 

" Now that we have peace, I can lie up 
and refit until King George needs me again," 
said he. " 'Twas a carronade that came 
adrift in the Bay when it was blowing a top- 
gallant breeze with a beam sea. Ere we 
could make it fast it had me jammed against 
the mast Well, well," he added, looking 
round at the walls of the room, " here are 
all my old curios, the same as ever : the 
narwhal's horn from the Arctic, and the blow- 
fish from the Moluccas, and the paddles from 
Fiji, and the picture of the p* Ira with Lord 
Hotham in chase. And here you are, Mary, 
and you also, Roddy, and good luck to the 
carronade which has sent me into so snug a 
harbour without fear of sailing orders." 

My mother had his long pipe and his 
tobacco all ready for him, so that he was able 
now to light it and to sit looking from one of 
us to the other and then back again, as if he 
could never see enough of us. Young as I 
was, I could still understand that this was the 
moment which he had thought of during 
many a lonely watch, and that the expecta- 
tion of it had cheered his heart in many a 
dark hour. Sometimes he would touch 
one of us with his hand, and sometimes 
the other, and so he sat, with his soul too 
satiated for words, whilst the shadows 
gathered in the little room and the lights of 
the inn windows glimmered through the 
gloom. And then, after my mother had 
lit our own lamp, she slipped suddenly down 
upon her knees, and he got one knee to the 
ground also,jj£top-,^|hjt, hand-in-hand, they 
joined their thanks to Heaven for manifold 




mercies. When I look back at my parents 
as they were in those days, it is at that very 
moment that I can picture them most clearly ; 
her sweet face with the wet shining upon her 
cheeks, and his blue eyes upturned to the 
smoke -blacken eel ceiling. I remember that 
he swayed his reeking pipe in the earnestness 
of his prayer, so that I was half tears and 
half smiles as I watched him. 

ft Roddy, lad/ 1 said h<% after supper was 
over, "you're getting a man now, and I 
suppose you will go afloat like the rest of us. 
You Ye old enough to strap a dirk to your 

" And leave me without a child as well as 
without a husband ! " cried my mother. 

** Well, there's time enough yet,' 1 said he, 
" for they are more inclined to empty berths 
than to fill them, now that peace has come. 
But I've never tried what all this schooling 
has done for you, Rodney, You have had a 
great deal more than ever I had, but I dare- 
say I can make shift to test it Have you 
learned history ? tf 

u Yes, father, r said I, with 
some confidence. 

"Then how many sail of 
the line were at the Battle of 
Camperdown ? " 

He shook his head gravely 
when he found that I could 
not answer him. 

"Why, there are men in 
the fleet who never had any 
schooling at all who could 
tell you that we had seven 
74*s t seven 64*5, and two 
50-gun ships in the action. 
There's a picture on the 
wall of the chase of the 
fa Ira. Which were the 
ships that laid her aboard ? " 
Again I had to confess 
that he had beaten me. 

11 Well, your dad can teach 
you something in history 
yet," he cried, looking in 
triumph at my mother. 
" Have you learned geo- 
graphy ? " 

-Yes, father, JT said I, 
though with less confidence 
than before* 

" Well, how far is it from 
Port Mahon to Algeciras ? " 
I could only shake my 

(l If Ushant lay three 
leagues upon your starboard 
quarter, what would be your nearest English 
port ? " 

Again I had to give it up, 
" Well, I don't see that your geography is 
much better than your history," said lie. 
** You'd never get your certificate at this rate. 
Can you do addition ? Well, then, let us see 
if you can tot up my prize-money." 

He shot a mischievous glance at my 
mother as he spoke, and she laid down her 
knitting on her lap and looked very earnestly 
at him, 

i( You never asked me about that, Mary," 
said he, 

" The Mediterranean is not the station for 
it, Anson. I have heard you say that it is 
the Atlantic for prize-money and the Medi- 
terranean for honour/' 

(t I had a share of both last cruise, which 
comes from changing a line-of-battleship for 
a frigate. Now, Rodney, there are two pounds 
in every hundred due to me when the prize- 
courts have done with them. When we were 
watching Massena. oli Genoa, we got n 


] 4- 


matter of seventy schooners, brigs, and 
tartans, with wine, food, and powder* Lord 
Keith will want his finger in the pie, but 
that's for the Courts to settle. Put them at 
four pounds apiece to me, and what will the 
seventy bring ? " 

*' Two hundred and eighty pounds," I 

11 Why, Anson, it is a fortune," cried my 
mother, slapping her hands. 

" Try you again, Roddy ! " said he, shak- 
ing his pipe at me. "There was the Xebec 
frigate out of Barcelona with twenty thousand 
Spanish dollars aboard, which make four 
thousand of our pounds. Her hull should 
be worth another thousand. What's my 
share of that ? n 

"A hundred pounds." 

"Why, the purser couldn't work it out 
quicker," he cried in his delight, " Here's 
for you again ! We passed the Straits and 
worked up to the Azores, where we fell in 
with the La Safrina from the Mauritius with 
sugar anJ spices. Twelve hundred pounds 
she's worth to me, Mary, my darling, and 
never again shall you soil your pretty 
fingers or pinch upon my beggarly pay," 

My dear mother had borne her long 
struggle without a sign all these years, 
but now that she was so suddenly eased 
of it she fell sobbing upon his 
neck. It was a long time before 
my father had a thought to spare 
upon my examination in arith- 

"It's all in your lap, Mary/* 
said he, dashing his own bund 
across his eyes. " By George, 
lass, when this leg of mine is 
sound we'll bear down 
for a spell to Brighton, 
and if there is a smarter 
frock than yours upon 
the Steyne, may I never 
I read a poop again. But 
how is it that you are 
so quick at figures, 
Rodney, when you know 
nothing of history or geo- 
graphy ? TT 

I tried to explain that 
addition was the same 
upon sea or land, but 
that history and geography were not. 

4 'Well," he concluded, "you need figures 
to take a reckoning, and you need nothing 
else save what your mother wit will 
teach you. There never was one of our 
breed who did not take to saty^tEr like 

a young gull Lord Nelson has promised me 
a vacancy for you, and he'll be as good as his 

So it was that my father came home to us, 
and a better or kinder no lad could wish for. 
Though my parents had been married so 
long, they had really seen very little of each 
other, and their affection was as warm and 
as fresh as if they were two newly-wedded 
lovers. I have learned since that sailors can 
be coarse and foul, but never did I know it 
from my father ; for, although he had seen 
as much rough work as the wildest could 
wish for, he was always the same patient, 
good-humoured man, with a smile and a jolly 
word for all the village. He could suit him- 
self to his company, too, for on the one hand 
he could take his wine with the vicar or with 
Sir James Ovinyton, the squire of the parish ; 


while on the other he would sit by the hour 
amongst my humble friends down in the 
smithy, with Champion Harrison, Boy Jim, 
and the rest of them, telling them such stories 
of Nelson and his men that I have seen the 
Chan pion knot his great hards together, 


ico/ijVev sroxi:. 


while Jim's eyes have smouldered like the 
forge embers as he listened. 

My father had l>een placed on half-pay, like 
so many others of the old war officers, and so, 
for nearly two years, he was able to remain 
with us. During all this time I can only 
once remember that there was the slightest 
disagreement between him and my mother. 
It chanced that I was the cause of it, and as 
great events 'sprang out of it, I must tell you 
how it came about, It was indeed the first 
of a series of events which affected not only 
my fortunes but those of very much more 
important people. 

" Whom think you that it is from, Anson ? n 
she asked. 

" I had hoped that it was from Lord 
Nelson," answered my father " It is time 
the boy had his commission. But if it be 
for you, then it cannot be from anyone of 
much importance/' 

" Can it not ! " she cried, pretending to be 
offended "You will ask my pardon for 
that speech, sir, for it is from no less a 
person than Sir Charles Tregellts, my own 

My mother seemed to speak with a hushed 
voice when she mentioned this wonderful 

KJk -i.i i bit* 

The spring of 1803 was an early one, and 
the middle of April saw the leaves thick upon 
the chestnut trees. One evening we were all 
seated together over a dish of tea when we 
heard the scrunch of steps outside our door, 
and there was the postman with a letter in 
his hand. 

" I think it is for me," said my mother, 
and sure enough it was addressed in 
the most beautiful writing to Mrs* Mary 
Stone, of Friar's Oak, and there was a 
red seal the size of a half-crown upon 
the outside of it with a flying dragon in 
the middle. 

brother of hers* and always had done 
so as long as I can remember, so that 
I had learned also to have a subdued and 
reverent feeling when I heard his name. 
And indeed it was no wonder* for that name 
was never mentioned unless it were in con- 
nection with something brilliant and extra- 
ordinary- Once we heard lhat he was at 
Windsor with the King. Often he was at 
Brighton with the Prince. Sometimes it 
was as a sportsman that his reputation 
reached us t as when his Meteor bent the 
Duke of Qu^eii<ihori-yV, Egham, at New- 
markell J | f .J<tff Eff ^ 1 |)f^^pHg!yi i [.j(im Belcher 



up from Bristol, and sprang him upon the 
London fancy. But usually it was as the 
friend of the great, the arbiter of fashions, 
the king of bucks, and the best-dressed man 
in town that his reputation reached us. My 
father, however, did not appear to be elated 
at my mothers triumphant rejoinder. 

" Aye, and what does he want ? " asked he, 
in no very amiable voice. 

"I wrote to him, Anson, and told 
him that Rodney was growing a man 
now, thinking, since he had no wife or 
child of his own, he might be disposed to 
advance him." 

" We can do very well without him," 
growled my father. " He sheered off from 
us when the weather was foul, and we 
have no need of him now that the sun is 

" Nay, you misjudge him, Anson," said my 
mother, warmly. " There is no one with a 
better heart than Charles; but his own life 
moves so smoothly that he cannot under- 
stand that others may have trouble. During 
all these years I have known that I had but 
to say the word to receive as much as I 
wished from him." 

" Thank God that you never had to stoop 
to it, Mary. I want none of his help." 

" But we must think of Rodney." 

" Rodney has enough for his sea-chest and 
kit. He needs no more." 

" But Charles has great power and influence 
in London. He could make Rodney known 
to all the great people. Surely you would 
not stand in the way of his advance- 

" Let us hear what he says, then," said my 
father, and this was the letter which she read 
to him : — 

" 14, Jermyn Street, St. James's, 
"April 15th, 1803. 

" My dear Sister Mary, — In answer to 
your letter, I can assure you that you must 
not conceive me to be wanting in those finer 
feelings which are the chief adornment of 
humanity. It is true that for some years, 
absorbed as I have been in affairs of the 
highest importance, I have seldom taken a 
pen in hand, for which I can assure you that 
I have been reproached by many des plus 
charmantes of your charming sex. At the 
present moment I lie abed (having stayed 
late in order to pay a compliment to 
the Marchioness of Dover at her ball last 
night), and this is writ to my dictation by 
Ambrose, my clever rascal of a valet. I am 
interested to hear of my nephew Rodney 
( Mon dieu, quel nom !), and as I shall be on 
my way to visit the Prince at Brighton next 
week, I shall break my journey at Friar's Oak 
for the sake of seeing both you and him. 
Make my compliments to your husband. 
" I am ever, my dear sister Mary, 
" Your brother, 

" Charles Tregellis." 

" What do think of that ?" cried my mother 
in triumph when she had finished. 

" I think it is the letter of a fop," said my 
father, bluntly. 

" You are too hard on him, Anson. You 
will think better of him when you know him. 
But he says that he will be here next week, 
and this is Thursday, and the best curtains 
unhung, and no lavender in the sheets ! " 
Away she bustled, half distracted, while my 
father sat moody, with his chin upon his hands, 
and I remained lost in wonder at the thought 
of this grand new relative from London, and 
of all that his coming might mean to us. 

by Google 

Original from 

From Behind the Speaker's Chair, 




LOOKING round the House of 
Commons in the short Session 
of the new Parliament following 
on the General Election, no one 
familiar with the place would be disposed to 
believe that there has been established in 
recent times a more complete or wider- 
spread change of faces as between one 
Parliament and its successor. Yet the Parlia- 
ment elected in 1892 substituted 217 members 
for those who had sat in its predecessor, 
against 191 new members sent to the Parlia- 
ment elected last Jul)-. The reason for the 
prevailing sense of novelty in the situation is, 
doubtless, largely clue to its recent birth, but 
primarily to the fact that, as compared with 
the boukversement of 1892, the General Elec- 
tion of 1895 sent to the right-about a much 
larger proportion of prominent members. 

The Treasury Bench alone had consider- 
ably more than a tenth of its members sub- 
merged. The Chief Secretary for Ireland, 
the President of the Local Government 
Board, the Post- 
master-General, the 
Pa r lia rn e n ta ry S ecre - 
tary to the Home 
Office, the Financial 
Secretary to the 
Treasury, and three 
well - known mem- 
bers of the Whips' 
Department — Mr* 
Brand, Mr. C. R. 
Spencer, and Mr. 
Leveson - Gowcr — 
d i s a p p eared fro m 
the scene. In such 
a debacle the falling 
here and there of a 
particular man in 
the serried ranks 
would hardly be 
noticed. But it is 
small exaggeration 

to say the House of Commons shrieked 
when " Bobby rj Spencer fell How in the 
coming years the business of Parliament is to 
be carried on, and the more delicate wheels 
of State policy are to revolve in the absence 
of the statesman who in the last Parlia- 
ment represented Mid-Northamptonshire, is 
one of those unfathomable problems from 
which the vexed mind gratefully turns aside, 




Apart from the fatal accidents of 
old the General Election, the close 
stagers, of the brief but memorable Par- 
liament of 1892 was seized by 
several old Parliamentary stagers as oppor- 
tunity for withdrawing from the familiar 
road Mr, Gladstone's retirement would of 
itself suffice to mark an epoch. With him 
passed beyond range of the Speaker's eye 
men like Sir Henry James, Sir James Stans- 
feld, Sir Richard Temple, Mr, Jacob Bright, 
.Mr. Whitbread, Mr. T. B. Potter, Mr. Caleb 
Wright, Mr. W. Kathbone, Mr. lllingworth, 
and Mr. Cobb, occasionally contumacious 
but inflexibly honest, unsparingly industrious, 
the type of the private member who has 
done much to elevate the House of Commons 
to the unique position it holds amongst the 
Parliaments of the world, 

With Mr. Bright went his nephew, John 
Albert, thus breaking a family connection 
with the House of Commons dating back to 
July, 1843, when John Bright entered it as 

member for the City 
of Durham. At one 
time during the life 
of John Bright, there 
were no fewer than 
seven members of 
his family with seats 
in the House of 
Com mons. To-day 
it is solely repre- 
sented by his 
nephew, Charles 
McLaren, member 
for the Bosworth 
Division of Leices- 

the elec- 
t o r a 1 
scy t he 
swept off some of 
the tallest poppies 
in the Parliamentary field, it also swooped 
down on what fractious persons might 
call the weeds. Nothing was more re- 
markable amid the phenomena of this 
startling movement than the clearance 
made of a particular class of private 
member who flourished in rank abundance in 
the Parliament of 1892. Mr Seymour Keay, 
Mr Keir Hardie, Mr. Conybeare, Alpheus 







Cleophas — all these pretty chickens (with 
their indiscriminate dams) at one fell swoop, 
In their enforced absence the House of 
Commons will hardly seem itself. But long 
experience testifies that Nature's constitutional 
abhorrence of a vacuum is particularly marked 
in this direction. The House of Commons 
has from time immemorial had its " cranks * 
of various temperaments and tendencies. 
Glancing over the still unfamiliar faces and 
figures that crowd the benches of the nuw 
House, successors to Mr. Conybearej Alpheus 
Cleophas, and Mr. Keir Hardie are not re- 
cognisable. But unless, in addition to the 
Government of the day* the General Flection 
of 1895 upset the laws of Nature they are 
there, and will, before the new Session is far 
advanced, make themselves known. 

Considering the comparatively 
small number of its members, 
the House of Commons has ever 
been peculiarly subject to change, 
When the last House met for its second 
Session I counted, out of its 670 members, 
only fifty-two who had sat in the House when, 
twenty years ago, I began to make its inti- 
mate acquaintance. One need not go hack 
twenty years to point this moral. I chance 
to have turned up a division list, dated the 
17th March, 1885. It refers to an episode 
in the passing of the Reform Act of that 
year, interesting in itself, at a time when we 
have fresh with us memories of a Session 
that saw the introduction of a Bill, one of 
whose provisions was the taking on a single 
day of polls at the 
General I^lection. 

Sir William Agnew, 
at that time member 
for South- East Lan- 
cashire, brought up 
a new clause, em- 
bodying the stipu- 
lation which formed 
a plank in the mea- 
sure of the late 
libera] Government. 
Sir William was, in 
a political sense, ten 
years ahead of his 
time. His proposal 
was negatived by 
155 against 62, the 
majority being com- 
[>osed of Liberals 
and Conservatives. 
Several members of 
the late Ministry 
voted against the 


amendment, Lord Richard Grosvenor and 
Lord Kensington, the Government Whips of 
the day, telling in the "No 1 ' lobby. Amongst 
the majority were Mr. J. B* Balfour, who in 
the Government that in 
1895 brought in a Bill 
embodying the principle 
of one man one vote 
served as Lord Advo- 
cate; Mr. Henry Fowler, 
ths.n Secretary of State 
for India; Mr. Herbert 
Gladstone, First Com- 
missioner of Works ; 
Mr, Shaw Lefevre, Pre- 
sident of the Local 
Government Board; Mr. 
Mellor, Chairman of 
Committees ; Sir George 
Trevelyan, Minister for ^7 

Scotland ; and Sir Farrer mi?. y> n, balfour, rx.lord 


erscnell, now a peer 

of the realm, of late surveying mankind from 

the height of the Woolsack. 

In the minority there voted some members 

who, outside the Ministerial pale at that time, 

were later admitted within the fold, leavening 

the lump with impulse of Radicalism. They 

include Mr. John Morley, Chief Secretary* 

for Ireland in the late Government ; Mr. 

Bryce, President of the Board of Trade ; 

Mr. Burt, his first lieutenant ; Mr. Woodall, 

Financial Secretary to the War Office ; Mr* 

Causton and Mr. Murtro Ferguson, Whips. 

„ ,,-* T ~™Qf members who voted in this 



division ten years ago, I note 
among those still living, but no 
longer in the House* Mr. Arthur 
Arnold, now Chairman of the London County 
Council ; Mr Reginald Brett, who occa- 
sionally instructs the world from the plat- 
form and the Press, and looks after the 
Board of Works ; Mr. Joseph Cowen, who, 
to the irreparable loss of the House, 
long ago withdrew from it his picturesque 
presence and his rare flashes of stately 
eloquence ; Mr + Pass more Edwards, who has 
transferred hi name from the division list to 
the charitable subscription list ; Mr Arthur 
Elliot, who stood at the General Election 
under the " Unionist " flag and was beaten 
by a majority of one ; Mr. Cyril Flower, 
who without attempting, as the present Lord 
Selborne did, to uproot the Constitution, has 
quietly taken his seat in the House of Lords; 
Mr. Inderwick, who ought long ago to have 
been a judge ; Captain O'Shea, a leading 
actor in the most painful drama of modern 
times ; Mr. Eustace Smith ; Mr, Lyulph 




Stanley, busy at oth *r boards ; Mr. Willis, 
Q.C., now practising in a court where 
there are no hats to knock off the heads 
of absorbed listeners ; Mr Armitstead, 
whose pleasure in caring for the welfare of 
Mr, Gladstone in foreign 
parts is occasionally 
clouded by the persis- 
tency of the natives in 
taking him for the Grand 
Old Man ; Mr Evelyn 
Ashley, who is some- 
thing in the City ; Mr. 
Henry Brand, now Lord 
Hampden ; Sir Thomas 
Brassey, who, having 
come into a peers ge, has 
undertaken to govern 
New South Wales ; Mr. 
Philip Callan, whom 
Dublin can no longer 
spare to Westminster ; Colonel 
Carington, now right-hand man 
of the I^ord Chamberlain ; Mr. 
Cecil Cotes, looking after his 
estates in Shropshire ; Ixnd 
Crichton, gone to the House of 
Lords, where he finds the Sir 
Richard Cross of this historic division ; 
Mr. Thomas Duck ham, talking of coming 
back after long withdrawal; Lord Elcho, 
now Earl Wemyss ; Mr, Elton, like Mr, 
Willis, Q-C, though in another court, 
devoting himself to law; Lord Edmund 
Fiumaurice, who more than once has been 
beaten back in attempting to regain ad- 
mission to the House in which at the date 
of this division he sat as Minister; Lord 
Folkestone, now Earl of Radnor ; Mr. Gibson, 
again Lord Chancellor of Ireland ; Sir 
Hardinge Clifford, to-day Lord Chancellor; 
Sir Gabriel Goldney, living to green old age 
in quiet resting-place; Mr. Grantham, now 
a judge ; Lord Claude Hamilton, like 
Mr. Evelyn Ashley and Mr. Ernest Noel, 
something in the City i I,ord Harrington, 
now Duke of Devonshire, with a moving 
history lying between to-day and that March 
night ten years ago ; Mr. Sydney Herbert, 
Earl of Pembroke ; Colonel Milne Home, on 
active service ; Mr. Peter M'Lagan, out of 
the hunt ; Mr. C. S. Parker, wrecked in the 
General Election of 1892 ; Mr Albert Pell, 
and Mr. C S* Read, forsaken by the un- 
grateful agriculturist : Sir H. Selwyn Ibbetson 
and Colonel Stanley, peers of the realm ; 
Sir Thomas Thorn hill, out of sight ; and 
Mr. Wharton, who carried his pocket hand- 
kerchief and snuff-box to the Antipodes, 

Digitized by G* 

returned with a pension, and is now under- 
stood to have given himself up to the pursuit 
of poesy, 

As for the tellers in the division, three of 
the four — Sir William Agnew, Lord Richard 
Grosvenor, and Lord 
Kensington — are out of 
the Ho use t the two 
~y latter having changed 

their status for the other 
House. Mn Sydney 
Buxton, the fourth 
teller, then a free lance 
below the gangway, 


# once more a private member, has no longer 
on his mind the care of all the Colonies 
and Sir LI I is Ash mead- Bar tlett. 


Here are forty-two members 

the °^ *^ e 22X w ^° to °k P art ' a 
., , , ™, the division no longer in the 

MAJORITY. „ r r , r\c l\ 

House of Commons. Of those 
who have joined the majority, the number 




is not much less, Looking down the list 
there flits across the memory the vanished 
figures of Sir George Campbell, David 
Da vies, Mr. Dillwyn, Mr. Firth, Mr. Morgan 
Lloyd, W. H, Cr Sullivan, Dick Peddie, 
Henry Richard, John Roberts, Thorold 
Rogers, Thomas Shaw, poor Willie Summers, 
J, F, Thomasson, Cavendish Bentinck, 
Eugene Collins, J. K. Cross, " Bob ,J Duff s 
who went out to govern New South Wales 
and found a grave at Sydney ; Sir Charles 
Foster; R. N. Fowler, thrice Lord Mayor of 
London ; Edward Hicks, Beresford Hope, 
Lord Henry Lennox, Cbas. Lewis, Sir James 
McGarel Hogg, who passed through the 
peerage to his rest ; Cecil Raikes, Sclater- 
Booth, who died Lord Basing ; W. H« Smith, 
whose memory as "Old Morality M still lingers 
in the House ; Hussey Vivian and Rowland 
Winn, before their deaths promoted to the 
peerage ; and Eardley Wilmot 

This death - roll numbers thirty, and it 
might, I fear, with fuller knowledge, be 
extended. I speak only of those of whose 
fate I have personal knowledge, Without 
exhausting the list, this 
proportion of seventy- 
two out of two hundred 
and twenty-one who 
have from death or dis- 
aster at the polls retired 
from the House of 
Commons in the space 
of ten years shows how 
rapidly and with what 
regularity the Assem- 
bly suffers sea change* 
Shortly after 

court Mr. Gully 

dress, was elected 
to the Speak- 
er's Chair he received 
a memorial, signed by 
138 members, praying 
him to abolish the re- 
gulation which requires 
members attending 
the State dinners 
given through the Session to appear in 
uniform or levee dress. The situation was, in 
the circumstances, one of peculiar difficulty, 
Here was an uncompromising Liberal, called 
to the Chair by the unanimous Liberal vote. 
Already there were signs of proximity of 
another election. The gentlemen who 
signed the memorial were of that not 
unfamiliar type in politics which is nobly 
resolved to sacrifice even great causes for 
minor matters of conscience. If Mr. Gully 

refused to lend a favourable ear to their prayer, 
there were amongst them some stubborn 
puritans of politics who would not hesitate, 
when the time came 3 to punish him by voting 
against his re-election. On the other hand, 
if he meddled with a time-honoured in- 
stitution, he would draw upon himself the 
resentment of the Tory party. 

The Speaker's escape from the dilemma 
happily indicated that wisdom did not die 
with Solomon. He pointed out, in blandest 
manner, that at the time he was approached 
the series of Sessional dinners at Speaker's 
Court was closed. No immediately useful 
object would be served by forthwith deciding 
on the matter, It would be well, therefore, 
to let it stand over for the spring of the year, 

The spring is almost at hand. The new 
Parliament has just met tor its second 
Session, But of the 158 members who 
signed the memorial of June last, few, few 
shall meet where many parted. It was in 
this particular section of the Liberal host that 
heaviest havoc was wrought, and for a while 
what was growing into a threatening question 
will quietly sleep. 

It is pro- 
j? lack 
rod ! " 

there will 

bable that 
in thecom- 
be raised 


(Sir Hussey Vivian,) 

again the question of 
the reasonableness of 
the incursion of Black 
Rod on the ordered 
business of the House 
of Commons. Whilst 
Mr. Peel was yet in 
the Speaker's Chair, 
steps were taken mod- 
erating the arbitrari- 
ness of the ancient 
custom* As is well 
known, when the farce 
of giving assent to 
Bills by Royal Com- 
mission is to the 
fore in the House of 

by Ki 


Lords, Black Rod is dispatched upon a 
mission summoning the Commons to stand 
at the Bar and hear the Commission 
read At the approach of the emissary 
from the other House, the watchful wardens 
on duty in the lobby of the Commons 
promptly close the door in Black Rod's face. 
But it is only their fun. He, entering into 
the joke, raps three times. The Serjeant-at- 
Arms, warned of the approach of a stranger, 
leaves his chair and stands on the inner side 





of the closed door. In response to the three 
raps, he withdraws a small trap-door and 
peers forth. To his manifest surprise he 
finds, standing outside, Black Rod, in full 
dress ! The door is straightway opened, and 
the senior doorkeeper, going on first, stands 
at the Bar, and at the top 
of a trained, stentorian voice 
cries aloud, " Black Rod I * 

The peculiarity of the 
situation is that, once ad- 
mitted within the jealously 
guarded doors, Black Rod 
brooks no further delay* 
Whatever business the House 
of Commons may be engaged 
upon 5 whosoever may be on 
his legs addressing it, the cry 
of " Black Rod!" must 
break in, and his summons 
when delivered at the Table 
must immediately be obeyed. 
In the Parliament of 1886-92 
two occasions happened in 
speedy succession, when this 
little by-play became quite 
unbearable. Early in the 
Session of 1888, whilst Mr* 
Balfour was on his legs at the 
Table answering an important 
question touching the conduct 
of business in Ireland, he was 
abruptly interrupted by the cry of "Black 
Rod t JI Midway in a sentence the Chief Sec- 
retary resumed his seat whilst Black Rod, 
for the nonce in high favour with the Irish 
members, made his progress to the Table. 

Two years later a similar misadventure 
befell Mr* Gladstone, who was addressing a 
question to the Ministerial Bench when 
Black Rod arrived. The doorkeeper was 
simply doing his duty in pursuance of orders 
when he shouted the Leader of the Opposi- 
tion down with cry of M Black Rod ! " But 
the absurdity of the situation and its gross 
un mannerliness struck members with such 
force, that they literally howled at the hapless 
messenger, who beat a hasty retreat. The 
Speakers attention being formally called to 
the matter, he undertook to confer with the 
House of Lords' authorities in order to 
avoid repetition of the unseemly procedure. 
Arrangements were made whereby Black Rod 
should deliver his message at a more con- 
venient time. He usually arrives within the 
hour of private business* But, as experience 
shows, there is no safeguard against his 
irruption at a later period when the House is 
engaged upon public business. 

Wil \T 




Strictly regarded, the whole pro- 
cess of giving by Commission 
the Royal Assent to Bills is a 
useless waste of time. When, 
as was originally the case, the Sovereign in 
person signified assent to Bills, it was well 
enough that the Speaker of 
the House of Commons 
should proceed in state to 
the other chamber accom- 
panied by a throng of 
members. But since, in 
these utilitarian days, the 
high prerogative is thought 
so little of by Royalty that 
its exercise is habitually 
delegated to Commissioners, 
the maimed ceremony might 
just as well be performed in 
the Lord Chancellors private 
room, letting the Commons 
go on with that business for 
which the ordinary limits of 
a Session yearly prove in^ 

Failing this, Black Rod 
should certainly be pre- 
cluded from bouncing in 
on the House of Commons 
at the convenience of the 
Lords* A simple and effec- 
tive means of meeting the 
difficulty would be for an intimation to 
be privily conveyed to the Speaker from 
the House of Lords, stating that Black 
Rod is presently coming with a message. 
At a suitable stage of current proceedings, as 
early as possible after receipt of the notifica- 
tion, the Speaker might rise and direct Black 
Rod (meanwhile in attendance in the lobby) 
to be admitted This would at least mini- 
mize the inconvenience of the anachronism 
and abolish the absurdity of the situation. 

I mentioned in a former number 
how Lord Playfair, whilst acting 
as Chairman of Committees, 
received a communication from 
a grower of champagne, asking 
him to insert a commendatory notice of his 
vintage " in your highly-respectable Journal of 
Ways and Means." The Speaker — a more 
prominent personage than the Chairman of 
Ways and Means — has a still wider circle of 
eccentric correspondents. There is a noble 
lord who believes he has been privily 
made a duke, who is accustomed from time 
to time to consult: the Speaker as to how the 
veil of secrecy may be withdrawn and he take 
his proper place in the peerage. Incidentally 







he mentions that he is descendant in the 
direct line from George IV. 

" If my friends do not deceive me," he 
loftily adds, " my face, figure, and general 
bearing justify the family tradition. " 

The immediate and pressing occasion of 
his lordship's last communication with 
Speaker's Court is the fact brought to his 
knowledge that "Tim Healy intercepts my 
correspondence." He calls upon the Speaker 
to protect him against this outrage, and, if 
possible, to obtain him redress. 

Oddly enough, the late George 

genial IV., himself not free from delu- 

george. sions in the matter of his exploits 
at Waterloo, is responsible for 
another active correspondent of the Speaker. 
" George IV., Emperor of 
India," is the signature of a 
letter announcing that the 
writer has sixteen Bills to 
bring in. He begs the 
Speaker will set apart a day 
for introducing them. " Any 
day will suit me," he airily 
adds, anxious above all things 
that the Speaker shall not 
put himself about. Nothing 
indeed could exceed the 
almost regal courtesy of this 
gentleman. He expresses his 
profound regret that he has 
not been able to approach 
the Speaker on the subject 
at an earlier date. The fact 
is, he has been detained in 
the country by affairs of State. 
He is coming up next week 
to Buckingham Palace with 
his daughters, and trusts the 
Speaker will drop in some 
afternoon and take a cup of 
tea with them. 

,™^ A third letter-writer familiar to 
lord • o 1 • / \ ■ 

wolseley's successive Speakers is (or was) in 
the Army. He believes that he 
could best serve his country in 
the post of Commander-in-Chief. 
He is aware that special qualities, and a 
certain amount of experience, are necessary 
for success in this high position. All he 
wants the Speaker to do is to " take the sense 
of the House " on the question of his fitness. 
In the meantime, he is ready at any moment 
to review the troops in Hyde Park. 



No answer being received to this com- 
munication, there appeared in the lobby of 
the House of Commons one Wednesday 
afternoon towards the close of last Session a 
military gentleman, who sharply demanded 
to see the Speaker. He was told that the 
Speaker was in the Chair, and could not be 

" What ! " cried the military gentleman, 
twirling his cane, "you mean to tell me 
the Speaker can't leave the Chair for five 
minutes to see me on business of this im- 
portance ? " 

Being answered in the negative, he dis- 
closed his mission. It was simply to arrange 
with the Speaker for his reviewing the troops 
in Hyde Park on the Saturday following, as a 
preliminary to taking the 
sense of the House upon 
his fitness for the Com- 
mandership - in - Chief. He 
fixed Saturday because he 
understood that, as a rule, 
the House did not sit on 
that day, and members on 
both sides would be at 
liberty to repair to the Park 
and form a judgment on 
the important issue sub- 
mitted to them. 

By a strategic movement 
the military gentleman was 
quietly got off the premises, 
and instructions given to 
the police that he should 
not be allowed to re-enter. 

A grimmer form 
of madness is 
displayed by 

SPONDENT. n „* u * „* 

another con- 
stant letter - writer, whose 
communications rarely vary. 
He writes out in catalogue 
form the name and full title of members 
of the Royal Family, and adds to each 
line an imprecation which has all the 
simplicity and directness of the Athanasian 
Creed. Why he should select the Speaker 
as the repository of his amiable desires is 
not explained. The sheet of letter-paper 
contains nothing but a cursing in detail of 
the Royal Family, from the Queen on the 
throne to the last infant in the cradle. Then 
comes a commonplace " Yours truly, " with a 
name and address. 


by Google 

Original from 


By Bret Hartl.* 

E all remembered very dis- 
tinctly Bulger's advent in 
Rattlesnake Camp, It was 
during the rainy season — a 
season singularly inducive to 
settled reflective impressions 
as we sat and smoked around the stove in 
Mosby's grocery. Like older and more 
civilized communities, we had our periodic 
waves of sentiment and opinion, with the 
exception that they were more evanescent 
with us, and as we had just passed through 
a fortnight of dissipation and extravagance, 
owing to a visit from some gamblers and 
speculators, we were now undergoing a severe 
moral revulsion, partly induced by reduced 
finances, and partly by the arrival of two 
families with grown-up daughters on the hill. 
It was raining, with occasional warm breaths, 
through the open window, of the south-west 
trades, redolent of the saturated spices of 
the woods and springing grasses, which 
perhaps were slightly inconsistent with the 
hot stove around which we had congregated. 
But the stove was only an excuse for our 
listlesSy gregarious gathering ; warmth and 
idleness went well together, and it was 
currently accepted that we had caught from 
the particular reptile which gave its name to 
our camp much of its pathetic, life -long 
search for warmth, and its habits of indolently 
basking in it. 

A few of us still went through the affecta- 
tion of attempting to dry our damp clothes 
by the stove, and sizzling our wet boots 

* Copyright, 1^96, by Bret Marie. 

against it ; but as the same individuals calmly 
permitted the rain to drive in upon them 
through the open window without moving, 
and seemed to take infinite delight in the 
amount of steam they generated, even that 
pretence dropped. Crotalus himself, with 
his tail in a muddy ditch, and the sun striking 
cold fire from his slit eyes as he basked his 
head on a warm stone beside it, could not 
have typified us better 

Percy Briggs took his pipe from his mouth 
at last and said, with reflective severity : — 

" Well, gentlemen, if we can't get the waggon 
road over here, and if we're going to be left 
out by the stage coach company, we can at 
least straighten up the camp and not have it 
look like a cross between a tenement alley 
and a broken-down circus. I declare I was 
just sick when these two Baker girls started 
to make a short cut through the camp, 
I Earned if they didn't turn round and take 
to the woods and the Rattler's again, afore 
they got half-way. And that benighted 
idiot, Tom Rollins, standi n 1 there in the 
ditch, spattered all over with slumgullion 'til 
he looked like a spotted tarrypin, wavin* his 
fins and sashaying backwards and forrards 
and savin', * This way, ladies ; this way ! ' " 

"/ didn't," returned Tom Rollins, quite 
casually, without looking up from his steam- 
ing boots; "/didn't start in night afore last 
to dance 'The Green Corn Dance,' outer 
4 Hiawatha/ with feathers in my hair and a 
red blanket on my shoulders, round that 
family's new potato patch, in order that it 




might 'increase and multiply/ I didn't sing 
* Sabbath Morning Bells ' with an anvil ac- 
companiment until twelve o'clock at night 
over at the Crossing, so that they might 
dream of their Happy Childhood's Home* 
It seems to me that it wasn't me did it. I 
might be mistaken — it was late — but I have 
the impression that it wasn't me" 

From the silence that followed this would 
seem to have been clearly a recent perform- 
ance of the previous speaker, who, however, 
responded, quite cheerfully : — 

*' An evenin' o' simple, childish gaiety don't 
count. We've got to start in again fair. 

if we're only firm, It's all along of our 
cussed fool good-nature ; they see it amuses 
us, and they'll keep it up as long as the 
whisky's free. What we want to do is, 
when the next man comes waltzin 1 along " 

A distant clatter from the rocky hillside 
here mingled with the puff of damp air through 
the window. 

11 Looks as ef we might hev a show even 
now," said Turn Rollins, removing his feet 
from the stove as we all instinctively faced 
towards the window. 

" I reckon you're in with us in this, Mosby?" 
said Briggs, turning towards the proprietor of 


What we want here is to clear up and en- 
courage decent immigration, and get rid o 1 
gamblers and blatherskites that are makfo* 
this yer camp their happy hunting-ground. 
We don't want any more permiskus 
shootin'. We don't want any more pain tin' 
the town red, We don't want any more 
swaggerin* galloots ridin' up to this grocery 
and emptyin' their six -shooters in the air 
afore they light We want to put a stop to 
it peacefully and without a row — and we kin. 
We ain't got no bullies of our own to fight 
back, and they know it, so they know they 
won't get no credit bullyin' us ; they'll leave, 

Digitized by G* 

the grocery, who had been leaning listlessly 
against the wall behind his bar. 

" Arter the man's had a fair show/' said 
Mosby, cautiously, He deprecated the pre- 
vailing condition of things, but it was still an 
open question whether the families would 
prove as valuable customers as his present 
clients. " Everything in moderation, gentle- 

The sound of galloping hoofs came nearer, 
now swishing in the soft mud of the highway, 
until the unseen rider pulled up before the 
door. There was no shouting, however, nor 
did he announce himself with the usual salvo 
Original from 




of fire-arms. But when, after a singularly 
heavy tread and the jingle of spurs on the 
platform, the door flew open to the new- 
coiikt, he seemed a realization of our worst 
expectations, Tall, broad, and muscular, he 
carried in one hand a shot-gun, while from his 
hip dangled a heavy navy revolver. His 
long hair, unkempt but oiled, swept a greasy 
circle around his shoulders ; his enormous 
moustache dripping with wet completely 
concealed his mouth. His costume of fringed 
buckskin was wild and 
outre even for our 
frontier camp, But 
what was more con- 
firmative of our sus- 
picions was that he 
was evidently in the 
habit of making an 
impression, and after 
a distinct pause at the 
doorway, with only a 
side glance at us, he 
strode towards the 

" As there don't 
seem to be no hotel 
hereabouts, I reckon 
I kin put up my 
mustang here and 
have a shake -down 
somewhere behind counter," he said. 
His voice seemed to 
have added to its 
natural depth the 
hoarseness of frequent 

"Ye ain't got no 
bunk to spare, you 
hoys, hev ye ? " asked 
Mosby, evasively, 
glancing at Percy 
Briggs, without look- 
ing at the stranger. 
We all looked at 
Briggs also; it was his affair after all — ^ 
had originated this opposition. To our 
surprise he said nothing. 

The stranger leaned heavily on the counter, 

" I was speakin' to you" he said, with his 
eyes on Mosby, and slightly accenting the 
pronoun with a tap of his revolver-butt on 
the l^ar. " Ye don't seem to catch on." 

Mosby smiled feebly, and again cast an 
imploring glance at Briggs To our greater 
astonishment, Briggs said, quietly: MYhy 
don't you answer the stranger, Mosby?' 1 

Yes, yes/* said Mosby, suavely, to tl\e 

Vol. XJ.-2Q, 

by Google 

new-comer, while an angry flush crossed his 
cheek as he recognised the position in which 
Briggs had placed him, 4i Of course, you're 
welcome to w T hat doings / hev here, but I 
reckoned these gentlemen over there," with a 
vicious glance at Briggs, t( might fix ye up 
suthin 1 better; they're so powful kind to 
your sort," 

The stranger threw down a gold piece on 
the counter and said : H Fork out your 
whisky, then," waited until his glass was 

filled, took it in his 
hand and then, draw- 
ing an empty chair to 
the stove, sat down 
beside Briggs, 
" Seem' as you're that 
kind," he said, placing 
his heavy hand on 
Briggs's knee, "mebbe 
ye kin tell me of thars 
a shanty or a cabin at 
Rattlesnake that I kin 
get for a couple o 1 
weeks. I saw an 
empty one at the head 
o' the hill. You see, 
gennelmen, "he added, 
confidentially, as he 
swept the drops of 
whisky from his long 
moustache with his 
fingers and glanced 
around our group, 
11 I've got some busi- 
ness over at Bigwood " 
(our nearest town), 
" but ez a place to 
stay at it ain't my 

"What's the matter 
with Bigwood ? " said 
Briggs, abruptly. 

" It's too howlin', 
too festive, too 
rough ; thar's too 
much yellin' and shootin' goin' day and 
night. Thar's too many card sharps and 
gay gam bole irs cavortin' about the town 
to please me. Too much permiskus soakin' 
at the bar and free jim-jams. What I want 
is a quiet place whar a man kin give his 
mind and ell tow a rest from betwixt grippin' 
his shootiiv-irons and crookin' in his whisky. 
A sort o' slow, quiet, easy place like this" 

We all stared at him, Percy Briggs as fixedly 
as any. But there was not the slightest trace 
of irony, sarcasm, or peculiar significance in 
his manner. He went on slowly : — 




"When I struck this yer camp a minit ago; 
when I seed that thar ditch meanderin' 
peaceful like through the street, without a 
hotel or free saloon or express office on either 
side ; with the smoke just a curlin' over the 
chimbley of that log shanty, and the bresh 
just set fire to and a smoulderin' in that 
potato patch with a kind o' old time stingin' 
in your eyes and nose, and a few women's 
duds just a flutterin' on a line by the fence, I 
says to myself : * Bulger — this is peace ! 
This is wot you're lookin' for, Bulger — this is 
wot you're wantin' — this is wot you'll hev ! ' " 

" You say you've business over at Bigwood. 
What business ? " said Briggs. 

" It's a peculiar business, young fellow," 
returned the stranger, gravely. " Thar's 
different men ez has different opinions about 
it. Some allows it's an easy business, some 
allows it's a rough business ; some says it's 
a sad business, others says it's gay and 
festive. Some wonders ez how I've got into 
it, and others wonder how I'll ever get out 
of it. It's a payin' business — it's a peace- 
ful sort o' business when left to itself. 
It's a peculiar business — a business that sort 
o' b'longs to me, though I ain't got no patent 
from Washington for it. It's a business 
that's my own" He rose, and saying : " Let's 
meander over and take a look at that empty 
cabin, and ef she suits me, why, I'll plank 
down a slug for her on the spot, and move 
in to-morrow," walked towards the door. 
" I'll pick up suthin' in the way o' boxes and 
blankets from the grocery," he added, looking 
at Mosby, " and ef thar's a corner whar I kin 
stand my gun and a nail to hang up my 
revolver — why, I'm all thar i " 

By this time we were no longer astonished 
when Briggs rose also, and not only accom- 
panied the sinister-looking stranger to the 
empty cabin, but assisted him in negotiating 
with its owner for a fortnight's occupancy. 
Nevertheless, we eagerly assailed Briggs on 
his return for some explanation of this 
singular change in his attitude towards the 
stranger. He coolly reminded us, however, 
that while his intention of excluding ruffianly 
adventurers from the camp remained the 
same, he had no right to go back on the 
stranger's sentiments, which were evidently in 
accord with our own, and although Mr. 
Bulger's appearance was inconsistent with 
them, that was only an additional reason why 
we should substitute a mild firmness for that 
violence which we all deprecated, but which 
might attend his abrupt dismissal. We were 
all satisfied except Mosby, who had not yet 
recovered from Briggs's change of front, 

which he was pleased to call " craw-fish ing. ,J 
" Seemed to me his account of his business 
was extraordinary satisfactory. Sorter filled 
the bill all round — no mistake thar " — he 
Suggested, with a malicious irony. " I like a 
man that's outspoken." 

" I understand him very well," said Briggs, 

" In course you did. Only when you've 
settled in your mind whether he was 
describing horse-stealing or tract-distributing, 
mebbe you'll let me know." 

It would seem, however, that Briggs did 
not interrogate the stranger again regarding 
it, nor did we, who were quite content to 
leave matters in Briggs's hands. Enough 
that Mr. Bulger moved into the empty cabin 
the next day, and with the aid of a few old 
boxes from the grocery, which he quickly 
extemporized into tables and chairs, and the 
purchase of some necessary cooking utensils, 
soon made himself at home. The rest of 
the camp, now thoroughly aroused, made a 
point of leaving their work in the ditches, 
whenever they could, to stroll carelessly 
around Bulger's tenement in the vague 
hope of satisfying a curiosity that had be- 
come tormenting. But they could not find 
that he was doing anything of a suspicious 
character — except, perhaps, from the fact 
that it was not outwardly suspicious, which I 
grieve to say did not lull them to security. 
He seemed to be either fixing up his cabin 
or smoking in his doorway. On the second 
day he checked this itinerant curiosity by 
taking the initiative himself, and quietly 
walking from claim to claim and from cabin 
to cabin with a pacific, but by no means a 
satisfying, interest. The shadow of his tall 
figure carrying his inseparable gun, which had 
not yet apparently " stood in the corner," fall- 
ing upon an excavated bank beside the delving 
miners, gave them a sense of uneasiness they 
could not explain ; a few characteristic yells 
of boisterous hilarity from their noontide 
gathering under a Cottonwood somehow 
ceased when Mr. Bulger was seen gravely 
approaching, and his casual stopping before a 
poker party in the gulch actually caused one 
of the most reckless gamblers to weakly recede 
from "a bluff" and allow his adversary to 
sweep the board. After this, it was felt that 
matters were becoming serious. There was 
no subsequent patrolling of the camp before 
the stranger's cabin. Their curiosity was 
singularly abated. A general feeling of 
repulsion, kept within bounds partly by 
the absence of any overt act from Bulger, 
and partly by an inconsistent over-conscious- 







ness of his shot-gun, took its place, But an 
unexpected occurrence revived it. 

One evening as the usual social circle were 
drawn around Mosby's stove, the lazy silence 
was broken by the familiar sounds of pistol- 
shots and a series of more familiar shrieks 
and yells from the rocky hill road. The 
circle quickly recognised the voices of their 
old friends the roysterers and gamblers from 
Sawyer's Dam ; they as quickly recognised 
the returning shouts here and there from 
a few companions who were welcoming 
them. I grieve to say that in spite of their 
previous attitude of reformation a smile 
of gratified expectancy lit up the faces of the 
younger members, and even the older ones 
glanced dubiously at Briggs. Mosby made 
no attempt to conceal a sigh of relief as he 
carefully laid out an extra supply of glasses 
in his bar. Suddenly the oncoming yells 
ceased, the wild gallop of hoofs slackened 
into a trot and finally halted, and even the 
responsive shouts of the camp stopped also. 
We all looked vacantly at each other ; Mosby 
leaped over his counter and went to the 
door; Briggs followed with the rest of us, 
The night was dark, and it was a few 
minutes before we could distinguish a strag- 

gling, vague, but silent procession moving 
through the moist, heavy air on the hill. 
But to our surprise it was moving away 
from us — absolutely leaving the camp! 
We were still staring in expectancy, when 
out of the darkness slowly emerged a 
figure which we recognised at once as 
Captain jim, one of the most reckless 
members of our camp. Pushing us back 
into the grocery he entered without a word, 
closed the door behind him, and threw 
himself vacantly into a chair. We at once 
pressed around him. He looked up at us 
da/L'dly, drew a long breath, and said, 
slowly ; — 

"It's no use, gentlemen ! Suthin's got to 
be done with that Bulger ; and mighty 
quick. " 

" What's the matter?" we asked, eagerly, 
" Matter ! " he repeated, passing his hand 
across his forehead, " Matter ! I^ok yere ! 
Ye all of you heard them boys from Sawyer's 
Dam coming over the hill ? Ye heard their 
music — mebbe ye heard us join in the 
chorus ? Well, on they come waltzing down 
the hill, like old times, and we waitin* for 
'em. Then — jest as they passed the old 
cabin, who do you think they ran right into 





— shooting-iron, long hair and moustache, 
and all that — standing thar plump in the 
road ?— why, Bulger ! w 


" Well ! — Whatever it was— don't ask me — 
but, dern my skin, ef after a word or two 
from him — them hoys just stopped veiling 
turned mund like lambs and rode away 
peaceful-like, along with him. We ran after 
them, a spell, still yellin', when that thar 
Bulger faced around, said to us that hed 
4 come down here for quiet, 1 and ef he 
couldn't hev it, he'd have to leave with those 
gentlemen who wanted it too ! And I'm 
gosh darned ef those gentlemen — you know 
'em all— Patsey Carpenter, Snap-shot Harry, 
and the others — ever said a darned word but 
kinder nodded * So long J and went away ! " 

Our astonishment and mystification were 
complete; and I regret to say, the indigna- 
tion of Captain Jim and Mosby equally so. 
" If we're going to be bossed by the first 
new-comer/ 1 said the forri 

former, gloomily, * 4 1 


reckon we might as well take our chances 
with the Sawyer's Dam boys whom we know." 

4b Kf we ar^ goin 5 to hev the legitimate trade 
of Rattlesnake interfered with by the cranks 
of some hidin" horse- thief or retired road 
agent/' said Mosby, "we might as well invite 
the hull of Joaquim Murietta's gang here, at 
once ! But I suppose this is part o ] Bulger's 
particular ' business/ " he added, with a 
withering glance at Briggs. 

" I understand it all/' said Briggs, quietly. 
" You know I told you that bullies couldn't 
live in the same camp together. That's 
human nature— and that's how plain men 
like you and me manage to scud along with- 
out getting plugged, You see, Bulger wasn't 
going to hev any of his own kind jumpin' 
his claim here. And I reckon he was 
pow'ful enough to back down Sawyer's Dam. 
Anyhow, the bluff told — and here we are in 
peace and quietness." 

14 Until he lets us know what is his little 
game," sncQ|^ifJMb m 




Nevertheless, such is the force of mysterious 
power, that although it was exercised against 
what we firmly believed was the independence 
of the camp, it extorted a certain respect 
from us. A few thought it was not a bad 
thing to have a professional bully, and even 
took care to relate the discomfiture of the 
wicked youth of Sawyer's Dam, for the 
benefit of a certain adjacent and powerful 
camp who had looked down upon us. He, 
himself, returning the same evening from his 
self-imposed escort, vouchsafed no other 
reason than the one he had already given. 
Preposterous as it seemed, we were obliged to 
accept it, and the still more preposterous 
inference that he had sought Rattlesnake 
Camp solely for the purpose of acquir- 
ing and securing its peace and quietness. 
Certainly, he had no other occupation ; the 
little work he did upon the tailings or the 
abandoned claim which went with his little 
cabin was scarcely a pretence. He rode over 
on certain days to Bigwood on account of his 
business, but no one had ever seen him 
there, nor could the description of his 
manner and appearance evoke any informa- 
tion from the Big- 
woodians. It re- 
mained a mystery. 

It had also been 
feared that the ad- 
vent of Bulger would 
intensify that fear 
and dislike of riot- 
ous Rattlesnake 
which the two 
families had shown, 
and which was the 
origin of Briggs J s 
futile attempt at re- 
formation. But it 
was discovered that 
since his arrival the 
young girls had 
shown less timidity 
in entering the 
camp, and had even 
exchanged some 
polite conversation 
and good-humoured 
badinage with its 
younger and more 
impressible mem- 
bers. Perhaps this 
tended to make 
these youths more 
observant, for a few 
days later, when the 
vexed question of 

Bulger's business was again under discussion, 
one of them remarked, gloomily: — 

" I reckon there ain't no doubt what he's 
here for ! " 

The youthful prophet was instantly sat 
upon after the fashion of all elderly critics 
since Job's, Nevertheless, after a pause he 
was permitted to explain. 

"Only this morning, when lance Forester 
and me were chirping with them gals out on 
the hill, who should we see hanging around 
in the bush but that cussed Bulger ! We 
allowed at first that it might be only a new 
style of his interfering so we took no notice 
except to pass a few remarks about listeners 
and that sort o f tiling, and perhaps to joke 
and bedevil the girls a little more than we'd 
hev done if we'd been alone. Well, they 
laughed, and w r e laughed — and that was the 
end of it. But this afternoon, as lance and 
me were meandering down by their cabin, 
we sorter turned into the woods to wait till 
they*d come out. Then all of a suddent 
lance stopped as rigid as a pointer that's 
flushed something and says, * B'gosh ! ' And 
thar, under a big redwood, sat that slimy 

by Google 

ALONGSIDE O LII^EJ^Uil^l flfctiH" 




hypocrite Bulger, twisting his long mous- 
taches and smiling like clockwork alongside 
o' little Meely Baker — you know her, the 
pootiest of the two sisters — and she smilin' 
back on him. Think of it ! — that unknown, 
unwashed, long-haired tramp and bully, who 
must be forty if a day, and that innocent gal 
of sixteen. It was simply disgustin' ! " 

I need not say that the older cynics and 
critics, already alluded to, at once improved 
the occasion. What more could be expected ? 
Women, the world over, were noted for this 
sort of thing ! This long-haired, swaggering 
bully, with his air of mystery, had captivated 
them, as he always had done since the days 
of Homer. Simple merit, which sat lowly in 
bar-rooms, and conceived projects for the 
public good around the humble, unostenta- 
tious stove, was nowhere ! Youth could not 
too soon learn this bitter lesson. And in this 
case youth, too, perhaps was right in its 
conjecture, for this was, no doubt, the little 
game of the perfidious Bulger. We re- 
called the fact that his unhallowed appear- 
ance in camp was almost coincident with 
the arrival of the two families. We glanced 
at Briggs ; to our amazement, for the first 
time, he looked seriously concerned. But 
Mosby in the meantime leaned his elbows 
lazily over the counter and, in a slow voice, 
added fuel to the flame. 

" I wouldn't hev spoken of it before," he 
said, with a side-long glance at Briggs, " for 
it might be all in the line o' Bulger's ' busi- 
ness,' but suthin' happened the other night 
that, for a minit', got me ! I was passin' the 
Bakers' shanty, and I heard one of them 
gals a-singing a camp-meeting hymn. I 
don't calkilate to run agin you young fellers 
in any sparkin' or canoodlin' that's goin' 
on, but her voice sounded so pow'ful soothin' 
and pretty thet I jest stood there and listened. 
Then the old woman — old Mother Baker — 
she joined in, and I listened too. And then 
— dern my skin ! — but a man's voice joined 
in— jest belching outer that cabin !— and I 
sorter lifted myself up and kem away. Thet 
voice, gentlemen," said Mosby, lingering 
artistically as he took up a glass and profes- 
sionally eyed it before wiping it with his towel, 
" that voice, cumf 'bly fixed thar in thet cabin 
among them wimen folks, was Bulger's ! " 

Briggs got up with his eyes looking the 
darker for his flushed face. " Gentlemen," 
he said, huskily, " thar's only one thing to be 
done. A lot of us have got to ride over to 
Sawyer's Dam to-morrow morning, and pick 
up as many square men as we can muster : 
there's a big camp meeting goin' on there, and 

there won't be no difficulty in that When 
we've got a big enough crowd to show we 
mean business, we must march back here and 
ride Bulger out of this camp ! I don't 
hanker arter Vigilance Committees, as a rule 
— it's a rough remedy — it's like drinkin' a 
quart o' whisky agin rattlesnake poison — but 
it's got to be done ! We don't mind being 
sold ourselves — but when it comes to our 
standin' by and seein' the only innocent 
people in Rattlesnake given away — we kick ! 
Bulger's got to be fired outer this camp ! 
And he will be ! " 

But he was not. 

For when, the next morning, a determined 
and thoughtful procession of the best and 
most characteristic citizens of Rattlesnake 
Camp filed into Sawyer's Dam, they found 
that their mysterious friends had disappeared, 
although they met with a fraternal, but 
subdued, welcome from the general camp. 
But any approach to the subject of their 
visit, however, was received with a chilling 
disapproval. Did they not know that lawless- 
ness of any kind, even under the rude mantle 
of frontier justice, was to be deprecated and 
scouted when a " means of salvation, a 
power of regeneration," such as was now 
sweeping over Sawyer's Dam, was at hand ? 
Could they not induce this man who was to 
be violently deported to accompany them 
willingly to Sawyer's Dam, and subject him- 
self to the powerful influence of the "revival" 
then in full swing ? 

The Rattlesnake boys laughed bitterly, and 
described the man of whom they talked so 
lightly; but in vain. "It's no use, gentlemen," 
said a more worldly bystander, in a lower 
voice, " the camp meetin's got a strong grip 
here, and betwixt you and me there ain't no 
wonder. For the man that runs it — the big 
preacher — has got new ways and methods 
that fetches the boys every time. He don't 
preach no cut-and- dried gospel ; he don't 
carry around no slop-shop robes and clap 
'em on you whether they fit or not ; but he 
samples and measures the camp, afore he 
wades into it. He scouts and examines ; 
he ain't no mere Sunday preacher with a 
comfortable house and once-a-week church, 
but he gives up his days and nights to it, and 
makes his family work with him, and even 
sends 'em forward to explore the field. And 
he ain't no white choker shadbelly either, but 
fits himself like his gospel to the men he 
works among. Ye ought to hear him afore 
you go. His tent is just on your way. I'll 
go with you." 

Too dejected to offer any opposition, and 

by LiOOgle 

■-■I I '_| 1 1 I u I I I ■_' 




perhaps a little curious to see this man who 
had unwittingly frustrated their design of 
lynching Bulger, they halted at the outer 
fringe of worshippers who packed the huge 
inclosure. They had not time to indulge 
their cynicisms over this swaying mass of 
emotional, half -thinking, and almost irre- 

It was Bulger I 

But Briggs quickly recovered himself. 
"By what name," said he, turning passion- 
ately towards his guide, "does this man — 
— this impostor call himself here?" 

■' Baker." 

" Baker ? " echoed the Rattlesnake contin- 


sponsible beings, nor to detect any similarity 
between their extreme methods and the 
scheme of redemption they themselves were 
seeking, for in a few moments, apparently 
lifted to his feet on a wave of religious 
exultation, the famous preacher arose, The 
men of Rattlesnake gasped for breath. 

genL "Baker?" repeated Lance Forester, 
with a ghastly smile. 

t( Yes," returned their guide. M You oughter 
know it too ! For he sent his wife and 
daughters over, after his usual style, to sample 
your camp, a week ago ! Come, now, what 
are you givin' us ? PJ 

by Google 

Original from 

Lord Chief Justice 

WIFT, the witty Dean of St 
Patrick's, Dublin, has said that, 
in his day, every gentleman's 
son who was not good looking 
enough for the Army and not 
clever enough for the Bar was 
sent to the Church, It remained true long 
after the Dean's time to say that a gentle- 
man's son who gave indications of talent 
was (in the absence of other controlling cir- 
cumstances) generally sent to the Bar, In 
the days of which I speak, the absurd idea 
was prevalent that trade was hardly a fit 
pursuit for a gentleman of education, and there 
did not then exist those avenues to fame and 
fortune which are now open to educated youth 
in the world of applied science. The prejudice 
against trade has almost wholly disappeared, 
although it is said still to linger in some of 
the older and less populous cathedral cities, 
where a member of one of the so-called 
u learned " professions is rather inclined to 
look down upon his unlearned business 
neighbour. Nowadays it is no uncommon 
thing for men who have passed, and with 
distinction, through a University career to 
devote themselves to mercantile affairs, and 
from the successful members of this class the 
House of Commons, and the House of Lords 
also, are largely recruited. 

The Bar still has, and must always continue 
to have, great attractions. "The law, ,J said 
Edmund Burke, in his great speech on the 
taxation of America, * 4 is, in my opinion, one 
of the first and noblest of human sciences; one 
which does more to quicken and invigorate 
the understanding than all the other kinds of 

Digitized by W 

learning put to- 
gether. But," he 
adds, "it is not apt, 
except in those who 
are happily born, to 
open and liberalize 
the mind exactly in 
the same propor- 

The Bar does net 
indeed hold out 
promise of great 
wealth, but it has 
distinctions and 
adequate means in 
store for those who 
bring to its pursuit 
the necessary quali- 
ties of mind and of 
character* What 
are those qualities? 
It is still to a large 
extent true to say that if a youth exhibits 
talent, and especially if that talent shows itself 
in smartness and facility of speech, such a 
youth is destined for the Bar. Herein grievous 
mistakes are often made. All talent is not 
necessarily talent adapted for success at the 
Bar, nor is glibness of speech any guarantee 
of success at it No more common mistake 
is made than to confound facility of speech 
with capacity to speak, The world is full of 
men who have nothing to say and say it with 
ease and even with grace, and even with what, 
sometimes, passes for eloquence ; but I have 
never known any man who had something to 
say which was worth saying who, whatever 
his difficulties of utterance or natural poverty 
of language may have been, has not been 
able to say that something forcibly and well 
After all t the desirable thing is to have some- 
thing to say, and as to the manner of saying 
it, Daniel Webster spoke truly in his cele- 
brated oration in honour of John Adams when 
he said, " Clearness, force, and earnestness 
are the qualities which produce conviction." 

The result of the errors to which I have 
adverted is that there is at the Bar, as I know 
it, a greater amount of talent unfitted for that 
profession than in any other calling of life* I 
have known — I know now — at the Bar men 
who would probably, under different circum- 
stances, have made their mark in journalism, 
in music, in science, in business, who have 
been lamentable failures at the Bar. On the 
other hand, I have never known a man with 
suitable natural gifts accompanied by indus- 
trious patience who has not had his oppor- 
tunity at the Bar and his success. He may, 




indeed, have to wait, but he will not wait in 

What, then, are the considerations which 
ought to determine the choice of the Bar as 
a profession ? I answer, the love of it in the 
first place. If a man has not the love of the 
profession for its own sake, he will find it 
hard to bear up during the years — the neces- 
sary years— of watching and waiting — years 
dreary and drudging. Success is rarely, and 
still more rarely safely, reached at a bound, 
and it requires no mean effort of will to con- 
tinue (year after year, it may be) striving to 
store up knowledge and acquire experience 
for the use of which no immediate or proxi- 
mate opportunity seems to present itself. I 
name, then, love of the profession as the first 
consideration. I name physical health and 
energy as the second. No man of weak 
health ought to be advised to go to the Bar. 
Its pursuit involves lc:.g hours of close con- 
finement, often under unhealthy conditions ; 
and the instances of long-continued success 
at the Bar, and of lengthened usefulness on 
the Bench in the case of men of weak 
physique, are few and far between. 

The only two men of weak physique within 
my own experience (extending considerably 
beyond a quarter of a century) who achieved 
marked success, were the late Sir George 
Mellish and the late Lord Cairns. Both were 
exceptionally able men, but each laboured 
under the disadvantage of a weak consti- 
tution; and premature death in the case 
of both of them deprived the world of the 
prolonged advantage of two minds of the 
highest judicial character. In Follet's case, 
amongst many, early disease cut short, when 
he was yet a young man, a career which 
promised to be one of the most brilliant the 
Bar of England had ever known. 

Love of the profession and health to 
follow it are, then, the first two considerations. 
What are the mental qualities to be con- 
sidered ? I answer in a word : clear-headed 
common sense. I place this far above grace 
of imagination, humour, subtlety, even com- 
manding power of expression, although these 
have their due value. This is essentially a 
business, a practical, age ; eloquence in its 
proper place always commands a high 
premium, but the occasions for its use do not 
occur every day ; and the taste of this age 
(like the taste for dry rather than for sweet 
champagne) is not for florid declamation, but 
for clear, terse, pointed, and practical speech. 

Common sense and clear-headedness must 
be the foundation, and upon these may 
safely be reared a superstructure where 

Vol. xi.-21 

imagination and eloquence may fitly play 
their part. In fine, business qualities, added 
to competent legal knowledge, form the best 
foundation of an enduring legal fame. The 
circumstances of the age — the circumstances, 
social and political — the "environment," as 
it is called, largely affect men in all callings, 
and in none more than in that of Law. When 
great political and constitutional questions 
are being agitated and are unsolved, these find 
their way at times into the legal forum, and 
the world then becomes the richer by the 
impassioned speech of an Erskine or a 
Brougham, a Curran or an O'Connell, a 
Berryer or a Gambetta. 

But in these Islands few of these great 
questions are unsettled, and as, according to 
the British Constitution, the will of Parlia- 
ment is supreme, there is but little oppor- 
tunity in these days for discussing the 
constitutional problems which necessarily 
recur, for example, in the United States, 
governed as they are by a written Constitu- 
tion where the judicial power is called upon 
to interpret, and if necessary to control, the acts 
of legislatures. It is largely to this fact that 
we owe the masterly judgments of, amongst 
others, the great Chief Justice of the United 
States (Chief Justice Marshall) and the 
granite-like arguments of Daniel Webster, 
perhaps the greatest forensic figure the world 
has ever seen. 

There remains only one of the main con- 
siderations to be taken into account in the 
choice of the Bar as a profession, namely, 
ability to wait. Unless a man has the means 
to maintain himself living frugally for some 
years, or the means of earning enough to main- 
tain himself in this fashion, say, by his pen or 
otherwise, he ought to hesitate before resolv- 
ing to go to the Bar. I have already said 
success, even moderate success, rarely comes 
at once, and indeed the youthful wearer of 
the forensic toga may consider himself 
fairly lucky if after three or four years at the 
Bar he is making enough to keep body and 
soul decently together. Sometimes it happens 
that men meet with immediate and brilliant 
success, as in the case of Erskine, who, 
having abandoned his early career in the 
Navy, speedily became eminent at the Bar, 
and ultimately sat on the Woolsack ; such 
cases are indeed rare. On the other hand, I 
have known more than one instance of 
melancholy failure in the case of men of fair 
mental gifts who, feeling the pinch of poverty, 
have got involved in debt and difficulty early 
in their career, from which, in some instances, 
they have nevei' emerged. 




But I do not desire to take too gloomy a 
view* If a man really has the love of his 
work in his heart, and has the spirit of a 
worthy ambition within him, he will find it 
possible to live on little during his years of 
waiting and watching, and will find it possible 
to acquire that little by the exercise, in some 
direction, of his energy and ability — be it by 
tuition , by reporting, by leader-writing, or in 
some cognate fashion. It is well known that 
Lord Eldon, after a romantic runaway mar- 
riage, was many years at the Bar before his 
opportunity came; but come it did, in a 
celebrated and highly technical case, involv- 
ing the doctrine of u equitable conversion," 
and, as the world knows, he, in the end, 
achieved a great reputation, and was, for 
many years, Lord High Chancellor of Great 

I myself recollect, 
when I was a strug- 
gling junior of four 
years' standing on the 
Northern Circuit, din- 
ing in frugal fashion 
as the guest of two 
able young men of my 
own age, members of 
my Circuit, in one of 
our assize towns. They 
were almost in the 
depths of despair, and 
one of them was ser- 
iously considering the 
question of migration 
to the Straits Settle- 
ments ; the other was 
thinking of going to 
the Indian Bar. Where 
are they now ? One of 
them, as I write, fills, 
and for the second 
time, the highest 
judicial office in the land ; the other is the 
leader of his Circuit, and may any day dun 
the ermine of the judicial Bench.* 

To sum up, therefore, love of the profes- 
sion for its own sake, physical health to 
endure its trials, clear- headed common sense, 
and ability to wait,are the main considerations 
to be taken into account in determining the 
choice of the Bar as a profession. If the 
youthful aspirant possesses these, success is, 
humanly speaking, certain. 

Having then considered what ought to de- 
termine the choice of the Bar as a profession, 
something may now usefully be said as to the 

* Of iheiw, one i* Lord Herschell^ nem r an tx-Lortl CI»an<.*i:llor„ 
nind ihc other tHr Speakcr 3 Mr 

i mm ja ^Ei.[, '■ 
From a Phata fey 

lr.W,C Gully, Q.C 

necessary preparation for the Bar. In con- 
sidering the character of such preparation, 
regard ought, I think, to be had to the legiti- 
mate outcome of success, viz., a career in 
Parliament and on the Bench. All who can 
ought to have University training and a Uni- 
versity degree, and those who are not able to 
obtain these advantages will find the want of 
them in a greater or less degree throughout 
their public lives. 

But here a word of warning, A University 
career is not an end, hut a means only to an 
end* It is but the beginning of the struggle 
of life. It is not the battle of life, but only 
the equipment for it. The young man who 
will, as the phrase runs, "go far,'* must have 
a wide perspective, and while he must not 
neglect, but on the contrary must make good 

use of, his University 
opportunities, he 
ought never to be 
allowed to regard suc- 
cess at the University 
as the sum mum bonum 
— as the end of all 

I have known many 
men of brilliant 
careers at their Uni- 
versity who came to 
the Bar pumped out, 
and who, having been 
too lavish of their 
energy in earlier years, 
have not had enough 
left to insure success 
in the life-struggle of 
their profession, It is 
true they were, for the 
most part, men not en- 
dowed with robust con- 
stitutions. But while 
throughout the whole 
period of education and preparation special 
regard ought to be had to the intended career 
of the student, it is to be observed that the 
profession of the law has one peculiarity in 
which it differs from all others. It is this: 
That there is no such thing as knowledge 
which is useless in this profession. A man 
may not be a better engineer because he is a 
good classic, or a more successful merchant 
because he is a good mathematician ; but, at 
the Bar, the wider the field of knowledge 
the better. There is there no such thing as 
knowledge going to waste* Indeed, I under- 
take to say that it rarely or never happens 
that a barrister does not find useful to his 
hand inforAt^fiAP^wH^H" 1 be has stored up 


I KM. I 

m™tt <t Fry. 



even upon subjects wholly remote from a 
knowledge of the law itself. 

What is called the special training for the 
Bar usually begins when the University career 
has ended, arid although we have not in these 
Islands any school of jurisprudence (a thing 
much to be desired), yet both by the Univer- 
sities and by the Inns of Court, means of 
strictly legal education, by lectures and by 
examinations, are placed within the reach of 
those who desire to avail themselves of them. 
But the real work of education in law, as, 
indeed, in other fields of knowledge, is the 
work of self-education, pursued conscien- 
tiously and laboriously by the man who 
endeavours to get at the principles of law and 
who does not content himself merely with 
skimming the surface. Melius est pttere 
forties quam stdari rivufas. 

Reading in the chambers of a barrister is 
most desirable, even in these days, in which 
simplicity of statement has happily supplanted 
the bygone perplexities and absurdities of 
the system which formerly prevailed, known 
as '* special pleading." In tl^e United States, 
the distinction between solicitor and barrister 
is, of course, unknown, and I do not propose 
to discuss here whether that distinction and 
division do or do not work for utility ; but it 
is a notable feature of recent years in the 
career of students for the Bar in England, 
that a year spent in a solicitor's office, during 
which they may acquire an intimate know- 
ledge of the practical work of legal procedure, 
is now considered almost indispensable, and 
it is certainly most useful. 

One special subject in reading for the Bar 
I would name, because, in my experience, I 
have found it invaluable, and that i.i a study 
of the " Corpus Juris," or the body of the 
Civil Law, I had the signal advantage of 
being a student in the days when the late 
Sir Henry Maine was Professor of Civil l,aw 
to the Inns of 
Court, and under 
him, as in Uni- 
versity class- 
rooms, we read 
no inconsiderable 
part of the Civil 
I.a w. After all, 
a jjreat body of 
our law finds 
its source in the 

by Google 

Roman law ; and in the " Corpus Juris " law- 
is systematized in a way for which our English 
law has no parallel. Its reading gives to the 
attentive student a knowledge and a grasp 
of principle, hardly otherwise attainable, 
which he will always find useful throughout 
his life. 

Here, then, I may leave the youthful 
barrister. We have considered together the 
conditions which ought to determine his 
choice, and he has chosen. We have talked 
with him over his career at the University, 
and he has left the University with honour 
and advantage, if not with the highest dis- 
tinction. He has worked hard to acquire 
an adequate knowledge of his profession, at 
lectures, in chambers, and, above all, in the 
silence of his own rooms, and now he puts 
on the gown of the barrister, and stands upon 
the threshold of what may be a great and 
useful career. 

Beyond this I do not propose to follow 
him. He has joined a profession which has 
given many noble men to the world— -men 
who have done noble work for the world. 
He has to maintain the great traditions of 
that profession. He has to bear himself 
worthily, that no dishonour shall come upon 
him or upon his profession by him. He has 
to recollect that he belongs to a profes- 
sion which, beyond any other, has given 
to the world not merely great advocates and 
great judges, but 'great statesmen, great 
writers, and distinguished legislators. He 
has to remember that, while he is fighting 
for the interests of his client, there are 
greater interests even than these : the interests 
of truth and of honour ; and he must never 
forget, as Sir Alexander Cockburn well 
expressed it, that in the battle his weapon must 
always be the sword of the soldier and never 
the dagger of the assassin, lastly, he must 
remember that he is engaged in a profession 

which may well 
engage the 
noblest faculties 
of heart and of 
mind— that he is 
engaged in the 
practical admin- 
istration of that 
law whose voice 
is the " Harmony 
of the World. ' 

Original from 

Gleams from the Dark Continent. 

Bv Charles J. Mansford, 

FANCY our guide has got 
us into a scrape from which 
not even his ingenuity can 
extricate us," I said to 
Denviers, disconsolately^ 
" Both the people and the 
two Queens of this district were well disposed 
towards us at first : I wish we had left the 
Arab behind ; I don't believe we shall be 
alive in twenty-four hours' time.' 3 

14 Matters are going very badly with us, I 
must confess/ 1 acquiesced my companion. 
'* Certainly, if Hassan thinks we are all to 
shuffle off this mortal coil shortly, he has 
determined to make the most of the few 
hours of life that remain." 

As he spoke, Denviers pointed to where 
the Arab was standing in close conversation 
with the younger of the two Queens in whose 
chief city we then were. 

On leaving Tripoli, we had turned in a 
south-westerly direction, and, after an un- 
eventful march of thirty days, had made our 

way to this city, incited" by the curiosity 
which an Arab slaver, with whom we had 
come in contact, had aroused within us. 

Two days after parting with the slaver, 
Abu Teleck by name, we had entered a deep 
ravine, which appeared to have once been 
the bed of a river-course, for the huge 
boulders, overgrown or interspersed with 
rank vegetation, had a rounded appearance 
and lay scattered between the two high, per- 
pendicular sides of the ravine. 

Passing along this ravine in pursuit of a 
jaguar which we had wounded, we suddenly 
found the animal bounding across the level, 
stone-flagged square of a city, of which we 
were later on to learn the history, The two 
sides of the ravine there widened out in 
graceful curves, the utter bareness of the 
rocky declivities being amply compensated 
for by the wondrous tints of the sandstone 
of which ihey were composed. As the 
rays of the sun glinted into the ravine, 
or valley f the waving streaks of stone 
seemed as if they were composed of 
countless glittering gems of varied 
hues. Like a broad silver crescent, 
set in a purple sheath, shot with 
orange, glittered one of these belts 
of stone ; of green and saffron, of 
grey and crimson, were the others 
that hemmed it about, 
Towards the base of 
the sandstone the sides 
sloped somewhat, and 
were carved into caves, 
serving as burial-places 
for the dead, and it 
was in one of these 
that we four had now 
found a temporary 
place of refuge, two 
weeks after our appear- 
ance in the city, 

Below, the city 
spread out : its meanest 
dwelling rich with sculp- 
tured cornices and 
pilasters, while balus- 
traded staircases, carved 
in the solid rock, led 
from the bottom of the 
valley to the caves. In 
r ' : fflfe centre of the city 




stood a magnificent palace, built of various- 
hued limestone which, although raised centu- 
ries before, had resisted the ravages of Time. 
Beyond the palace was a great open amphi- 
theatre, with circle on circle of ascending 
seats, while in the centre of this stood the 
strangest erection of this extraordinary city. 
It was a column constructed of perfectly -fit- 
ting blocks of grey granite, the top of which 
was shaped like a vast urn. The base of this 
column measured some eighty paces on each 
of its four sides, the faces themselves being 
perfectly smooth and perpendicular, the mass 
of granite rising to a considerable height in 
the air* Some attempt had doubtless been 
made to climb one of the faces of the square 
column so as to reach the great vase at the 
top, for some rudely cut niches were visible 
up to a considerable height. There the rough 
steps ended abruptly, the daring climber 
having either lost courage or, becoming dizzy, 
fallen headlong from the scanty foothold 
which his hands had carved in the granite. 

We found that the city was ruled over by 
the two daughters of its late Sultan, who were 
hound, under pain of death, 
to be loyal to each other. No 
sooner had we been welcomed 
in the city than the two Queens 
seemed to forget our presence 
in their palace, or at most only 
tolerated it, while Hassan, our 
guide, received every mark of 
approval that could be be- 
stowed upon him. 

It was the custom in 
this city to hold contests 
in the open amphitheatre 
between man and man, 
and even between man 
and beast* To 
celebrate such a 
rare occurrence 
as the arrival of 
strangers, a 
pageant had been 
arranged in our 
honour. During 
its progress, Has- 
san had chal- 
lenged the fav- 
ourite wrestler to 
a trial of his skill, 
and our guide, 
by sheer persist- 
ence and pluck, 

had thrown the fellow. From that 
hour Hassan ingratiated himself into 
the favour of the two ,0(^(300 

we plainly saw, while the chief Arabs of the 
city at once began to form plots for his 
destruction and ours with him. 

It soon became evident that our discrimi- 
nating guide selected the younger of the two 
Queens to whom to pay marked attentions. 
Hour after hour he passed in her presence, 
telling of the adventures which he had jointly 
encountered with us. Furious at this, the 
other Queen lent a ready ear to her wily 
counsellors, who declared that the Arab, 
with our help, was arranging a plot by which 
be might obtain the rule of the city, taking 
the younger Queen as his bride, while the 
other was to be deposed and driven from 
the city. 

One night, while Hassan was recounting 
an adventure to Ahillah, the younger Queen, 
and we were resting upon cushions near, a 
number of armed attendants broke into the 
palace and, in spite of our struggles, Hassan 
and the Queen, together with Denviers and 
myself, were thrust into the streets- Annoyed 
at this indignity, we prepared to defend our- 
selves, and at once our weapons were taken 



1 66 


from us. We next attempted to leave the 
city, but the two entrances, those at each end 
of the valley, were too strongly held for us to 
succeed. To stale the perpendicular cliffs 
was impossible, so that we were securely 
imprisoned in the city until some definite 
decision had been made concerning us. None 
of the inhabitants dared either to shelter or 
even to speak to us, so that, with Ahillah, we 
were perforce driven to take shelter in the 
cave I have mentioned. 

The cave itself was extremely lofty, and 
was partly uncovered, so that the light entered 
it freely from above, Denviers was about to 
call Hassan to where we two lay idly stretched 
upon the stone flooring of the cave, when 
we heard the sound of approaching foot- 
steps. Going hastily to the entrance, we 
saw the rival Queen ap- 
proaching in state the 
winding stairway lead- 
ing to where we were. 
Before her slaves ran, 
strewing flowers in her 
path, while other slaves 
screened her head from 
the rays of the sun with 
palm-leaves held high, 
Behind the Queen came 
several stalwart and 
swarthy Arabs, the chief 
of which was the one 
Hassan had overthrown 
at the wrestle ; his face 
was strikingly Hebraic 
in mould, the long ear- 
rings in his ears glittering 
against his swarthy skin 
and hanging, black hair. 
The Arab wore gems that 
shone lustrous in his 
tunic, spotlessly white 
t urban, and sleeveless 
cloak i in one hand he 
carried a wide, curved 
sword, upon his left arm 
rested a shield. 

No sooner had Ahillah 
set her glances upon those 
who were approaching 
than she cried out that 
our doom had been pronounced, and ran 
shrieking to the farthest part of the cave, 
where our guide followed her. 

Up the stairway the procession came and, 
a few minutes after, we stood before Sargona, 
Ahi II ah 3 s sister, waiting her will The chief 
Arab came forward, and bowing low before 
Karpona T he cried : -? 

"The Queen has been injured; the wrong- 
doers are before her ; say, O Sargona, what 
is the penalty thou hast decreed ? " 

Sargona glanced angrily at our guide, and 
her dark eves flashed as she answered : — 

*' Death to the Arab who has plotted 
against us, death to him and those who plot 
with him : I have said ! " 

Before either Denviers or myself could 
speak, Ahillah had thrown herself at her 
sister's feet : — 

"Spare all, or spare none!" she cried. 
*' What fate is mine?" Sargona raised 
Ahillah roughly from the ground. 

" Thou shalt live, girl, but thou art 
deposed. The Council has decreed that 
thou shalt be a vestal of the temple. Go ! " 

The Queen clapped her hands, and imme- 

diately Ahillah was seized and dragged away, 
in spite of our guide's efforts tn prevent it. 

" Slaves," she continued : * 4 two days shall 
ye live, on the third shall ye die ! Yet" if ye 
will carve a way to the great treasure urn, 
your lives shall be spared on condition that 
the gems there, which are as the grains of 



our hands, and ye depart from the city. Many 
have tried to reach the great urn : none have 
succeeded. Ye are subtle as snakes ; by to- 
morrow's dawn say if ye will try the task, or 
if ye prefer to die without attempting it." 

Out from the cave Sargona went with her 
attendants, while we were left behind, 
strongly guarded, and feeling that the 
Queen's words concerning the great urn 
were only intended to rouse, in Hassan's 
mind especially, a hope of escape which was 

Denviers and I lay for some time discussing 
our unfortunate plight, but without any pos- 
sible plan of escape occurring to either of us. 
At last my companion called the Arab, who 
was disconsolately lamenting the loss of 
Ahillah, and, when he came over to us, asked 
him : — 

"Do you think we have any chance of 
escape, Hassan ? Can you suggest one ? " 

" Allah and Mahomet preserve the sahibs ; 
the dust of their feet has been the cause of 
their misfortune ! He knows of no way at 
present; if the slightest idea occur, their 
slave will at once speak of it At present, 
Hassan can only wish their fate had been 
different — but water runs out at last, and the 
biggest sack of dates comes to an end. The 
sahibs have met with their last adventure — 
their slave will lament it to his death." 

"Which won't be particularly long in 
coming, Hassan," I said, gloomily. " What 
was it that Sargona said about the great urn ? 
Does she expect us to cut a way up to it 
when no one else has ever been able to do 
so ? If so, we would rather be excused ; if 
treasures are there, I hope she may get them, 
that's all." 

" Sahib Derwent," the Arab replied, " to 
cut a way up there in the allotted time would 
be impossible ; indeed, with all time at their 
disposal, no one has ever reached the vase. 
Ahillah has told the latchet of the sahibs' 
shoes the strange story of the urn. Shall 
their slave repeat it ? " 

"Spin us the yarn by all means," said 
Denviers, as he threw a stone idly at a huge 
scarlet beetle that had just fallen from the 
wall fronting us, and which was again making 
its way up the hard surface. " We may as 
well listen to you as not, while we are cooped 
up here." 

HaSsan sank down at our feet and 
began : — 

" Sahibs, of all the strange cities scattered 
throughout this dark continent, none had a 
stranger origin or a stranger history than this. 

Far back in the misty ages some Edomites 
are said to h^ve wandered into this continent. 
Near here Jhey had grassy lands in common, 
but, as all men do, they quarrelled. The 
strong oppressed the weak, and drove them 
forth to find other lands. Wandering here 
they entered the ravine, and finding in it 
many caves, dwelt therein, tilling the land 
to the south. Now, all things prospered 
with them, and they grew rich in herds, 
while misfortune fell upon those who had 
persecuted them. So at last messengers 
came from the tribesmen saying that they 
would forget their quarrel, and asking to have 
once more all in common. Those dwelling 
in the caves refused the bargain, whereupon 
their outnumbering tribesmen determined to 
be revenged for being set at naught They 
drew a great ring round the pasture, circling 
the valley, and when all the rich flocks were 
out, the tribesmen fired the lands. 

" The darting tongues of flame flashed up 
the dry bark of the trees and the great stems 
blazed, then grew red-hot, while the verdure 
beneath, in wave upon wave of fire, rolled 
its flames and smoke nearer to the steep sides 
of the ravine. Burning leaves and showers 
of sparks were flung into the air, while the 
flocks ran towards the ravine, nearer and 
still nearer. Huddled together they kept 
till the very grass beneath was aflame, and 
then, in inextricable confusion, the animals 
leaped headlong into the sheer ravine, their 
herdsmen with them, only to be dashed to 
pieces on the rocks below, or to be drowned 
in a great river which then hurled its waters 
along through the ravine. * 

" Still, in spite of all they suffered, the in- 
habitants of the valley refused the terms 
offered them, and posted men, who, for a 
time, successfully defended the entrances of 
the ravine. The persecuting tribesmen turned 
aside the river's course, and then first the 
people of the valley began to despair. 
Through traffic with another tribe they had 
obtained ornaments wrought in gold, with 
many an uncut gem adorned, and, convinced 
that they were reduced to their last desperate 
strait, the people of the valley determined to 
prevent this treasure from falling into the 
foe's hands. To hide it in the rock they 
thought useless, so they consulted how to 
dispose of the treasure. 

"In the course of the stream there stood 
a wide block of stone, and upon this eager 
hands raised a mighty column, building it of 
blocks of granite. A stairway was left to the 
top where is a great urn, which ye have seen, 
and the women, passing up the stairs, flung 


1 68 


in their greatest treasures. When everything 
was safely protected, the stairway was care- 
fully blocked in while those of the tribe once 
more returned to the caves in which their 
dwellings were. So the rival tribesmen, still 
failing to take the city, consulted together 
and agreed to win over another tribe to their 
assistance. This they succeeded in doing by 
promising to their allies all the loot taken in 
the city. So the defenders were overthrown, 
the women and children being afterwards 
sold as slaves, while the men were slain. 

" When, however, the captors of the city 
explored its every recess, they could find 
none of the women's treasures. At this the 
allies, thinking they had been deceived, fell 
upon the victorious tribesmen, slew them in 
turn, and took possession of the city. They 
kept it for centuries, till Trojan the Emperor 
overcame them and made it a Roman city. 
Long after that the Arabs took it and kept it, 
as they have even unto this day. Each 
century has seen efforts made to reach the 
great urn, but none have succeeded. The 
last Sultan, before he died, made a law that 
anyone condemned to die might choose to 
attempt to reach the urn ; if he succeeded in 
getting its treasures for the city, then his life 
must be spared. It was of this decree that 
Sargona spoke, but Hassan, the sahibs 1 
slave, counts at little that chance to escape 

Hassan ceased ; both Denviers and I 
doubted the truth of the legend. Treasures 
might be hidden in the vast urn, we thought, 
but upon the base of the column we had 
seen part of an inscription which read : 
Trajanus Aedificavit. Indeed, our idea of 
the reason of the building of the column, 
surmounted by the great urn, was quite 
a different one to that which Hassan gave, 
and proved to be correct. Our discovery 
of this was made in a singular and unexpected 

Just before daybreak I was awakened by 
Hassan, who cautiously roused me. Raising 
myself to a sitting posture I found Denviers 
near, while Ahillah stood before us. 

"Hist!" Ahillah cried: "I could not 
rest, knowing that I have been the unhappy 
means of bringing this trouble upon you all." 

I glanced at the deposed Queen. She was 
clad in a robe of white silk, as I perceived by 
the light of some half-spent torches thrust in 
grippers of the wall. Down almost to her 
waist her dishevelled black hair fell ; her 
dress was heavily embroidered with pearls, 
the straps of her sandals being similarly 

1 mj< ' 

adorned. Surpassingly beautiful I thought 
the maiden, as I saw the expression of 
pity which our unhappy position wrought 
upon her olive countenance and inspired the 
troubled look in her dark eyes. 

" To reach the urn is impossible for ye, 
yet that is the only barrier between ye and 
death ! Long hours have I racked my 
brain for some way of escape for ye, and 
Allah has filled me with a strange thought. 
Here, when I waited for Sargona to de- 
cide with her Ministers whether she would 
slay or spare, I saw, climbing and falling, 
yet ever climbing again, upon yonder wall, 
the rare scarlet scarabaeus. Not once in 
years is it seen in this city, and then the 
foolish and ignorant declare it comes 
at the bidding of Allah for some strange 
purpose. They say that if once a scarabaeus 
reaches the urn, then a human being will do 
so that very day. The superstition I believe 
not, but the sight of the scarabaeus set me 
thinking. What my plan is I will tell to 
Hassan, even the one who has favoured me, 
though death be his for so doing. The 
guards I found asleep, but ye cannot escape 
that way, so test it not. Hear from the 
illustrious Arab, he who is the prince of 
wrestlers, and my adored, what I have 
devised. If it fail, ye can be no worse off 
than ye are now : if it succeed, your lives 
will be spared." 

Ahillah drew Hassan aside, and, after a few 
minutes' conversation, left the Arab, giving 
him meantime a package which she had 
brought. Before departing from the cave, 
the Queen pointed to the scarabaeus, which, 
from its scarlet colour, could plainly be seen 
a few yards from one of the torches, the 
pleasant warmth of which had doubtless 
caused it to cease its efforts to reach the top 
of the wall of the cave. 

In safety the Queen passed by the sleeping 
sentries, while we drew together, discussing 
her plan with Hassan. At first we almost 
ridiculed it, then, after we had grown more 
accustomed to the strange notion, we began 
to be impatient for the hour when we could 
test its possibility. 

When dawn had fully come, the chief 
Arab of the city again visited us and asked, 
in derision, if we wished to attempt to get 
the long-lost treasure from the urn. To his 
great surprise, Hassan answered : — 

" Allah has given us his promise to aid us. 
See ! This has he sent — lo ! the Scarlet 
Scarabaeus ! " 

We were certainly surprised at the effect 
of HassaiOri^wds upon the Arab, He 




seemed disconcerted at first, then asked, 
assuming indifference : — 

"Slaves, what will ye?' 1 

"We would be led to the column of the 
great urn," Hassan responded. 

M Come, then ! " cried the chief Arab, and, 
without delay, we fallowed him down the 
great stairway, through the streets, past the as- 
sembling citizens, 
into the great am- 
phitheatre, until we 
stood before the 
column support- 
ing the strange 

The people, 
quickly learning 
what our intention 
was, thronged into 
the seats of the 
amphitheatre, and 
as. we glanced 
about we saw the 
faces of thou- 
sands of excited 

If Hassan should 
fail in the strange 
task he had under- 
taken ! I glanced 
at the frenzied 
faces of the fana- 
tics — if we had 
raised a false hopo 
we should be torn 
to pieces* 

Even as we 
stood there, with 
our foes filling 
every tier of the 
vast amphitheatre, 

Sargona entered and seated herself, sur- 
rounded by her chief men, where she could 
clearly see what we attempted* I saw her 
sister, Ahillah, enter and place herself in one 
of the seats in the lowest tier, whence she 
glanced eagerly at us, Hassan, turning his 
gaze upon Ahillah, saw that she pointed 
to a large grating and, following the 
direction indicated, saw something that 
startled him. 

"Sahibs!" he whispered, "See! If 
Ahillah's plan fail, our fate will not long be 
in doubt, Allah send us a quick death \ fl 

Looking at the grating, we saw several 
forms pacing restlessly behind its bars ; it 
lay in shadow, but we understood* If 
the urn -were not reached, then the grat- 
ing would open and, defenceless as we 

Vol* xl-22 

were, we should be matched against the 
captive lions, already impatient for their 
human spoil. 

Hassan unfastened the package and laid a 
quantity of cordage exposed to view. To 
one end of this he attached a silk thread 
of very considerable length, and while both 
Denviers and I were eagerly watching 


his preparations, we saw the Arab unroll 
his turban and disclose the huge scarlet 
scarabreus which we had seen endeavouring 
to climb the wall of the cave, The scara- 
breus was, like its genus, very strong and 
tenacious, for when Hassan raised it deftly 
with his thumb and forefinger, it carried the 
turban in its prehensile, claw-like feet 

The Arab quickly attached the free end of 
the silken thread to the body of the scara- 
baeus, and then placed the scarlet beetle upon 
the polished granite pillar. 

A strange hush came over those in the 
amphitheatre as they saw what the Arab 
planmd to do; moreover, as the whisper 
went round that the scaralxeus was scarlet, 
the Arabs recalled their tradition and became 



fient, as they 



watched Hassan's endeavours to guide the 
beetle upward, 

At first the scarahreus, finding some 
strange burden attached to its body, dropped 
from the granite pillar and ran along the 
ground. Hassan naught it, and time after 
time, as the scarabseus tried the same 
manoeuvre, did the Arab replace it on the 
pi liar. At last the scarlet beetle ceased to 
fall, and ran heedlessly about the pillar. 
Hassan, with his hand, checked it in every 
direction but one, and then, with a frantic 
effort for liberty as it seemed, the scarlet 
scarabseus ran perpendicularly up the wall ! 

So large was the scarabsus and so distinct 
its colour, that we could see it plainly as it 
crawled higher and higher. Half-way up 
the pill ir the searabaeus lost its hold, for the 
blocks of granite were highly polished, and 
it fell. 

My glance turned from the excited throng 
to where the lions were. Looking again at 
the pillar I saw that the Arab had placed the 
searabteus upon it once more. 

Six times did the scarabneus fall, only to 
be placed upon the pillar again, but the 
seventh time it ran right up the granite 
blocks and reached the circular base of the 

Dervviers and I grew pale with excitement ; 
Sargona's face grew dark with wrath ; Ahillah 
clapped her hands — Hassan gave no sign 
that aught disturbed him. Calmly, true 
believer in fate that he was, our Arab watched 
patiently the movements of the scarabaeus 
as it reached the urn. 

The thread of silk waved in the air as the 
scarabaeus ran about the circular base of 
the urn, 

"Allah! If the scarabaeus twines the 
thread too tightly round the urn, our deaths 
are near," said Hassan, as he watched the 
scarlet beetle, which made a complete circuit 
of the urn and then was about to go round a 
second time. 

Hassan stooped down, and selecting several 
pieces of granite, flung them in a shower at 
the scarabeeus, which he missed. His second 
attempt succeeded, however, for we saw the 
scarabaeus dangling helplessly in the air at 
the end of the silken thread, 

The weight of the thread was more than 
overcome by that of the scarafeeus, which 
slipped slowly down ? down to the ground, 
where Hassan seized it eagerly and snapped 
the thread. Ahillah, who saw the scarabreus 
crawling away, left her seat and seized it, 
holding it high before her sister Sargona, 

14 Ijj ! " she cried ; " the ancient rune 

reads right ! By the scarlet scarabaeus, 
I swear the treasures of the urn shall be ours 
this day ! " 

At ihis, many of those about Sargona 
glanced darkly at her— already they repented 
that her sister had l>een so harshly treated, 
for it was Ahillah's plan they understood that 
Hassan was carrying out 

The Arab carefully hauled in the silken 
thread, and as he did so, the light, strong 
cord attached to it gradually reached the urn, 
wound round its base, and then came down 
until the nearer end was in Hassan's hand. 
To hoist a rope sufficient to bear his weight 
was an easy matter for the Arab* 

A few minutes afterwards, JJemiers and I 
were pulling hard at the rope as we hoisted 
the Arab high up the polished pillar of stone. 
He reached the urn, and, clambering up one 




of its huge handles, disappeared within it. 
When Hassan reappeared he held high 
a string of pearls. 

" Ahillah ! she must come, and then the 
sahibs ! " cried Hassan. No one questioned 
why that should be, and accordingly, when 
Denviers and I had raised Ahillah to where 
the Arab leant over and drew her up, we were 
hoisted in turn by the ready hands of three 
men of the city. 

" Draw up the rope, sahibs ! " said the 
Arab, and at once we did so. 

We found ourselves upon a curving plat- 
form of granite, which ran down in a winding 
way right into the granite pillar, which proved 
to be hollow. The path we traversed was 
more like the thread of a gigantic screw, and 
led us down until we were below the surface 
of the earth. 

We went on wonderingly, following Hassan, 
who had improvished a torch from a portion 
of the rope which we had brought, until we 
came to a rough-hewn chamber. There, in 
the light of the flaring torch, we looked upon 
a strange scene. 

The rock had been roughly hollowed into 
a great gallery, for from floor to ceiling rose 
great pillars of granite, while, at the end 
furthest from where we stood, could be seen a 
half-raised portcullis, beyond which was a 
rocky vestibule. 

It was not the strange, uncouth carving of 
the gallery, however, which drew our attention, 
for, lying there, m confused heaps, were 
hundreds of mummies. Denviers had sug- 
gested to me before that the urn itself, by 
means of which we had entered that strange 
place, had been the tomb of some illustrious 
rulers of the city upon which we had come. 
We agreed then, that it was a more likely 
theory than that such a huge structure had 
been raised for the mere purpose of contain- 
ing treasure. Whichever view was right, one 
thing was evident : the gallery in which we 
were had been looted by impious hands. 
Save for the string of pearls which Hassan 
had held temptingly up, we found no other 
treasure in the abode of the dead. 

From great niches in the walls, from 
chambers running out of the galleries, from 
sarcophagi lying broken and ransacked, 
the mummies had been dragged into the 
centre of the gallery and there despoiled. 
Mummy cloths had been unwound ; limbs 
wrenched off ruthlessly : a horde of bar- 
barians alone could have wrought such ruin. 

" There are no treasures ! " cried Ahillah, 
Then raising her hand she cried : " Listen ! 
The people grow impatient ! " 

So engrossed had we been that we had 
forgotten those watching for our re-appear- 
ance from the urn. 

"I don't believe Trajan ever wrote that 
inscription on the pillar," commented 
Denviers : " it was some traveller's trick, 
merely. But what are we to do ? If we go 
back we may be torn to pieces." 

"We had better explore this gallery and 
see if there is any way of escape by it," I 
responded, as I caught the sounds of 
clamorous voices, and understood that if 
we went back and acknowledged our failure 
to find the gems, we should have to bear 
the fury of the disappointed throng. 

So we went on, on till the portcullis and 
portico were passed, and we found our- 
selves in a stranger part still of the under- 
ground way. The great orifice widened out 
until we traversed a vast stretch of marsh, 
where rank, white verdure grew, for there no 
rays of light seemed to enter. Deeper we 
sank in the swamp at each step we took 
almost ; a hundred yards were scarcely passed 
over when the fetid slush was breast high. 

Hassan passed the torch to me ; Denviers 
cut off a length from the rope and, kindling 
it, we two went on before, lighting the way 
for Hassan, who bore Ahillah in his arms. 
We pushed doggedly on — on to where fan- 
tastic shapes of mist rose about us on every 
side, and seemed to mock our attempts to 
find a way out of that sickening, underground 

For fully three hours we advanced, slowly 
and painfully, the foul odours nearly stifling 
us— then we became aware that there was a 
current flowing in the dark waters. We tried 
to avoid it, but in our efforts to do so ran 
right into the danger we wished to escape. 
The bed of the marsh suddenly deepened, 
we lost our footing, and the next minute we 
were all struggling for life in the engulfing 
waters. The torches were extinguished, and 
save for a strange, phosphorescent gleam 
which lit up the marsh at fitful intervals, we 
were in profound darkness. 

In spite of our struggles, the current bore 
us away, away to where we could hear the 
roar of waters tumbling over a precipice, it 
seemed. Faster the current bore us on, 
faster and faster still ; I caught sight of 
Ahillah's and Hassan's face as they were 
swept past me. 

The roar of the waters increased ; the 
current swept on with appalling rapidity ; 
I was sucked over a mass of rock and then 
went down, sheer down into a vortex of 
foamy, grinding w ^- r ^|CHIGAN 



When next I came to my senses I was 
lying on the bank of a river at some con- 
siderable distance from the cataracL Den- 
viers had suffered a similar experience to my 
own, but had escaped with much less bruising 
than I had. He 
found me lying 
senseless on a 
little stretch of 
sand on the 
shelving shore of 
the river, where 
the waters flowed 
in comparative 

Hassan and 
Ahillah were 
nowhere to be 
found ! 

For two days 
we searched 
diligently for the 
bodies of the 
deposed Queen, 
Ahillah, and that 
of our faithful 
guide. At last 
we gave up the 
quest, and struck 
for our camp, 
guided by the 
sun. We were a 
considerable dis- 
tance from the 
camp ; indeed, it 
was ten days after 
our escape from 
the waters before 
we reached it. 

On arriving .it the camp, the first of those 
who came out to meet us was Hassan. We 
started at the sight of the Arab, for we had 
conclusively argued that he was dead* 

"Sahibs," said Hassan, as he bent before 
us^ "fate has been unkind, for 
Ahillah was drowned; it has also 
been kind, for the sahibs still live 
to be the light of their unworthy 
servant's count- 
enance," and the 
Arab bowed to 
the very dust 

" Well, Has- 
san/ 1 said Den- 
viers to our Arab, 
when the latter 
had told of his 
own escape and 
how it came 
about that he 
reached the 
camp before us ; 
"I don't think 
any of us are 
born to be 

" It is hard 
to say, sahib/' 
Hassan replied, 
gravely ; "yet 
surely is it 
easier for a 
blind camel to 
find the distant 
oasis than for 
man to unravel 
the twisted skein 
of his fate," 



by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives, 

Frvma] a^e 19, [DaffHtrrwotin*, 

Born 1823, 

WII) MASSON, Professor of 
Rhetoric and English Literature 
in the University of Edinburgh, 
who began his literary career at 
the age of nineteen, as editor of a 
Scotch provincial newspaper, was appointed 

From v Phott*. hif Dr. Jixamond. Eihr\ f mr$h. 

to the Chair of English Language and litera- 
ture at the University College, London, in 
1 85 2. He retired from his post in October, 
1865, having been appointed Professor of 

Rhetoric and English Literature in the Uni- 
versity of Edinburgh* He contributed 
numerous articles to the Quarterly, National^ 
British Quarterly, and North British Rmmw$ y 
and to the " Encyclopaedia Britanmea/' and his 
papers on Carlyle's "Latter-day Pamphlets," 
" Dickens and Thackeray ," " Rabelais/' etc., 
are the best known. His other works are so 
numerous that several pages of this Magazine 

From a Phala. b)f\ 

AGS u* 

..«.■'• ■• Watkins. 

would be required to give them in anything 
like detail, and we regret that space will not 
permit us to do so, A committee, headed 
by Lord Robertson, is preparing a suitable 
testimonial to Dr. Masson, in recognition of 
his important services to English literature. 





harmony, and proceeded ta Oxford in 
1 866, taking a second class in t,aw and 
History in 1870. At intervals he worked at 

music, with Sir 
William Sterndale 
Bennett and Sir 
G, A. Macfarren, 
and began to 
contribute to Sir 
George Grove's 
u Dictionary of 
Music." Amongst 
1 )r. Parry's well- 
known composi- 
tions the most 
important are ; 


Born 1848, 

TARRY, Professor of Musical 
History and Composition at the 
Royal College of Music, went 
to Eton in i86i, working at 

From, a Pkfita. hy) 

H- J. Wkittock. 

AGE 36. 

Ode, " Blest Pair of Sirens " ; Oratorio, 
** Judith " ; Ode for St, Cecilia's Day ; and a 
fine setting of " De Profundis," 

Frvm a Phitto. hy\ ACfc 20. [J. Omftrtmh 



r.j. p rif 


J 75 

" Harvest 



Sarah Bernhardt of the future, 

made her first public appearance 

with Mr, Charles Hawtrey, at 

the Theatre Royal, Brighton, as 

Vmm % in Henry Hamilton's play, 

Her next engagement was 



/Vom a Photo, by the Jjimdoti atoreotoopiV Company. 

when she appeared in Herman 
Meri vale's comedy -drama, "Our 
Joan," Charles Readers play, "The 
Double Marriage," etc. 
With fifteen months 1 pro- 
%'ineial experience, Miss 
Nethersole made her 
London debut at the 
Adelphi, in "The Union 
Jack/ 1 and after a short 
absence, rejoined the Gar- 
rick Theatre and played 
Mry. Sehvyn in Sydney 
Grundy's play, "A Fool's 
Paradise/' produced in 
January, 1892. I-ater in 
the year, she returned to 
the Criterion Theatre, and 
played for some months 
her then masterpiece, 
Merttde da Vigno* Miss 
Nethersole now attempted 
a task of extreme diffi- 
culty* Selecting a play 
by a young author, 



I>. t ,.,\« l'h..t>. f T 


Ox/or-d Strttt. 

Mr. A. W. Gattie, she 
produced, on her own 
responsibility, at the 
Royal Court Theatre, in 
January, 1894, ** The 
Trail sgressor, " wh ich wa s 
received with acclama- 
tion. She is now tour- 
ing with her own 
a | ft^fflpany in the United 




Born 1836, 

AGE 17. 

K.CB.j K.C.S.L, Commissioner 
of Police, entered the Madras 
Army in ^53, and became 
colonel in 1883. Sir Edward has the 
Persian medal, and served with the 14th 
Light Dragoons in the Persian campaign 
from February 21 till June 8, 1857; and 
afterwards in the North-Western Provinces, 
with General MieheFs force in Mavnes 
Horse, in 1858, He was present at the 
general action of Scindwha, at Karaij and 
served with General Napier's columns in 

AGS »G. 
Fntwa Photo, hv Rtteri Faulkner, liayiUviter. 

Mayne's Horse, gaining the medal, and 
\n in»; twice thanked in despatches. He has 
held the position of General Superintendent 
of the operations for the suppression of 
Thliggi and Dacoity, was resident First Class 
and Governor -General's Agent for Rajpoo- 

FiTtin 3 I'futto. by] 


[Elliott it Fry 

tana, and has been chief Commissioner in 
Ajmere, and has also been Secretary of the 
Political and Secret Department of the India 
Office, Sir Edward, who was appointed 
A.D.C to the Queen in the year 1889, 
accompanied H + R.H, the late Duke of 
Clarence on his visit to India, He has lost 
his left arm, the result of an encounter with 
a tiger some years ago. 


{tfaull*? M* 

The Romance of the Museums. 


By William G, FitzGerald, 

MARIA'S missal, which is 
now m the South Kensington 
Museum, is a capital specimen 
of those articles which find 
their way into the possession 
of our museum authorities in a very peculiar 


manner. One day a certain titled lady 
came into the directors 1 office and abruptly 
pulled a little book out of her pocket, 
requesting that the expert might value it 
for her. Her ladyship explained (i) that 
she was not in want of money ; (2) that 
the book was not an heirloom, but had 
been left to her family by will ; and (3) that 
she wanted to help a certain institution with 
the proceeds of the sale of the little volume. 

She was told, however, that the museum 
authorities did not make valuations, but were 
always open to buy ; and, furthermore, that 
her property was indeed a unique work of 
art. The lady said she had an inkling of 
this, a cautious dealer having offered her 
jQ-jo for the book — the mere value of the 
gold on the cover. The director, on examin- 
ing the volume further, declared, rapturously, 
that it was priceless ; probably this is why he 
offered ^500 for it then and there. More 
discussion followed, and at length the 
director of the museum begged the lady 
to wait a moment while he conferred 
with his colleagues, being himself a little 
flustered. Presently he came back, and 
in a burst of fine generosity said that he 
would give her ladyship another chance. 
Did she really want to part with the book at 

VoL *i^-23. 

once ? For, if so, the authorities — who seem- 
ingly fell over each other in their excited 
admiration of the workmanship— were dis- 
posed to increase their offer to ,£700, the 
cheque to be made out and signed on the 
spot. The bargain was concluded forthwith, 
and Queen Henrietta Maria's missal now 
adorns the hideous building at 
South Kensington, This is, in every 
respect, the smartest museum trans- 
action on record ; and I am assured 
that the wonderful book-cover must 
have been the whole life-work of 
a marvellous artisL There is no 
knowing to what fabulous figure this 
little book scarce 4m* high — would 
be run up, were it to figure in the 
auction-rooms to-morrow. 

Most country people and many 
foreigners are imbued with a whole- 
some dread of the perils of London ; 
I sincerely trust they will not al- 
together shun the Metropolis on 
learning that traps for catching 
human souls are kept at Blooms- 
bury. Anyone interested in the fearsome 
articles can see a good specimen at the 


British Museum - Ethnographical Gallery, 
Wall Case(T^j^j n ^|hfi|5 :i ^rticular soul-catcher 


1 7 8 


is of no more supernatural material than 
plaited cocoa-nut fibre, with a string attached. 
There are six double loops, and the whole 
measures 41 j/in, in length, 

The trap shown here comes with peculiar 
appropriateness from Danger Island, in the 
Indian Ocean, where these articles range in 
length up to 28ft., and have loops of different 
sizes, the latter intended variously for adults 
and children, the aristocracy and the canailk. 
I am unable to say whether the islanders can 
now. see through these soul-traps (the loops are 
arranged spec- 
tacle - fashion), 
but their effect 
was at one time 
disastrous in the 
extreme. If a 
person had the 
misfortune to 
o ff en d the 
" sacred men," 
or were very ill, 
a soul-trap would 
be suspended by 
night from a 
branch of one 
of the gigantic 
laurel trees that 
his dwelling. On 
the family in- 
quiring what sin 
had been com 
mitted that their 
souls should be 
treated as pesti- 
lential rodents, 
some ceremonial 
offence against 
the gods would 
be assigned, A 
priest watched 
near the trap ; 
and if an insect 
or a small bird 
flew through one 
of the loops it 

was asserted the soul of the culprit* 
assuming this form, had passed into the 
trap. It would then be spread abroad 
that poor So-and-so had lost his soul, and 
lamentation and bitter weeping would result 
The friends of the unhappy man would then 
intercede for him, offering presents and 
miscellaneous property to the soicerer, some- 
times with success. If the bribe were not 
large enough, and an unfavourable answer re- 
ceived, the victim would simply pine away 

Digitized by LiOOglC 


and die — even though, before the trap was 
set, he was in full possession of health and 

The next story I have to tell is so interest- 
ing, that were I to do it justice I should need 
many pages of The Strand Magazine; there- 
fore must I be brief. My story is about poor 
Chunee, the far-famed elephant, who was 
destroyed at Exeter Change in March, 1826, 
under circumstances that — to borrow a con- 
venient phrase of journalese — " positively 
baffle description." The skeleton of Chunee 

is here shown ; 
it is now a con- 
spicuous object 
in the museum 
of the Royal 
College of Sur- 
geons, in Lin- 
coln's Inn Fields. 
According to Mr* 
Cross, to whose 
menagerie the 
elephant be- 
longed ? Chunee's 
first owner was 
Mr Harris, then 
proprietor of 
Covent Garden 
Theatre, who 
purchased the 
young animal for 
900 guineas on 
its arrival in 
England in the 
Astei y which 
vessel was com- 
manded by a 
Captain Hay, 

After a little 
prel i ra i nary 
training, Chunee 
appeared in the 
Covent Garden 
pantomime, and 
he continued in 
Mr. Harris's pos- 
session for many 
years, until his weight increased to such 
an extent as to endanger the stability of 
the stage. In 1814 Mr Cross bought Chunee 
— and I should remark here that this gentle- 
man had for twenty years been superintendent 
of the Royal Menagerie, Exeter Change, a 
site now occupied by Exeter Hall ; from 
which it will be seen that this spot has been 
a place of entertainment from time imme- 

When the animal arrived from India, there 




were two keepers with it, and these accom- 
panied their charge to Exeter Change. Now, 
Chunee was a model of elephantine decorum 
until one of these men died ; then he became 
troublesome and required a bigger den. One 
day in 1822 the keeper went into this new 
den to put the elephant through his perfor- 
mance, but found that he was, so to say, on 
strike ; he simply refused to do anything, 
whereupon the keeper struck him with a little 
cane. Chunee could not have been hurt, 
but he nearly killed that keeper, who was 
only rescued by a veritable miracle in the 
concrete form of Mr. Cross himself. 

After this Chunee began to have dangerous 
annual paroxysms ; and later on it was pointed 
out to the proprietor of the show that in 
India, under similar circumstances, the ele- 
phants were let run loose in the forest, and 
presently came back cured. This sort of 
thing, however, was not advisable in the 
Strand, so Mr. Cross resorted to physic. 
After fifty-two hours' coaxing, Chunee was 
induced to swallow his first dose, which con- 
sisted of 241b. of salts, 241b. of treacle, 
6oz. of calomel, \}4oz. of tartar emetic, 6 
drachms of powder of gamboge, and a bottle 
of croton oil. This produced no more ap- 
preciable results than the tendering of one 
of the buns of commerce. Next followed 
61b. of beef marrow and, later, 40Z. of 
calomel — all of which had absolutely no 
effect on Chunee, who at this time was 
devoting all his energies to the demolition of 
his den. One Wednesday morning, the 
great beast made a terrific onslaught on his 
own massive front gate, which he all but 
dislodged. Medicine of another sort was 
then tried — firstly, 40Z. of arsenic, then }4oz. 
of corrosive sublimate, and lastly a lot of 
strychnine, mixed with sugar and conserve 
of roses and things, the whole tastefully done 
up in a little bladder, and left about in the 
den, " promiskus '' ; for the monumental cus- 
sedness of the animal was such that he would 
devour greedily any scrap of food that 
happened to be on the floor, while he would 
reject scornfully a decent square meal 
tendered him by his keeper. 

Let me be clearly understood. Chunee 
was not " immune " ; he simply swallowed 
no part of the second course of " medicine," 
refusing everything — even food. His appear- 
ance now indicated that trouble was at hand ; 
his eyes glared like glass lenses, reflecting 
a red and burning light. Chunee had 
declared war. He had, so to speak, given 
the human ambassadors accredited to him 
their exequaturs, and would, doubtless, have 

given them their quietus if he had had a 
chance. Quern Deus vult perdere^ etc. I 
cannot say whether the elephant was pre- 
destined to an awful death, but he certainly 
was very mad at this time. 

The excitement quickened. Chunee was 
about 1 oft. high and weighed four or five 
tons ; consequently his gratuitous perform- 
ance threatened to bripg down the 
house — in a literal sense — menagerie 
and all, upon the respectable shop-keepers 
below. Mr. Cross at length sent in hot 
haste for his brother-in-law — one, Herring 
— who was something of a shot, but 
who, nevertheless, arrived upon the spot 
with no more formidable weapon than a 
monstrous opinion of himself. The two 
instantly repaired to Holborn for guns and 
things. On their way back they looked in at 
the College of Surgeons, with the charitable 
intention of getting a few hints from Professor 
Stewart's predecessor as to where they could 
most advantageously smite the enemy. Mr. 
Cross also burst in upon the eminent anato- 
mist, Mr. Joshua Brookes- who was in his 
theatre lecturing, and who, therefore, resented 
this violent intrusion, which could not fail, he 
said, to scandalize his pupils. 

He, however, also contributed his quota of 
advice as to where to hit Chunee, and he 
also sent along a pupil to direct the marks- 
men in the way they should shoot On 
returning to Exeter Change, poor Mr. Cross 
was implored to run off to Somerset House 
for the " millingtary," as the rampageousness 
of Chunee was fast overcoming all assaults, 
and indeed forcing his would-be assassins to 
defend their own lives. 

The " army of occupation " at Somerset 
House consisted of one sentry, who with 
touching heroism defied the distraught show- 
man, saying he could not leave his post ; 
and two privates and a corporal. These 
warriors, like the gentry in the parable, began 
to make excuses, saying they could not come ; 
they did eventually turn up in the battle, 
however, fired a- conscientious three rounds 
of ball through Chunee's tough hide, and 
then remained impotent, having no more 

Is this not an amazing story ? And yet 
the newspapers of the day relate the 
facts with sublime unconsciousness of the 
tragi-comic character of the episode. The 
unhappy Cross rushed hither and thither 
after arms ; and he would actually have 
removed the old howitzers that lay in the 
quadrangle of Somerset House, if the guns 
could have been safely fired. At last he 




Arrowed a swivel gun from Hawes's Soap 
Factory, on the Surrey side of the river, 
near Blackfriars Bridge, and with this and 
a few balls, and the head of a poker \ he 
darted back to open fire on poor Chunee— 
who was then dead. The unequal combat 
was ended, and 
for the first time 
in the annals of 
natural history a 
Herring had 
killed an ele- 

The fight had 
lasted more than 
two hours, dur- 
ing which time 
Chunee was ex- 
posed to rifle fire 
from every side* not to mention pitchforks and 
swords fastened on poles. But 260 shots had 
been fired before Chunee was killed. 

The elephant's skin was sold to a tanner 
f° r j£s°* an ^ J&35 was taken at the door 
for permission to view the body, In addi- 
tion to this, the receipts on subsequent days 
were at the rate of ^250 a day— which, let 
us hope, compensated the unfortunate Cross 
for the loss of Chunee, whose value was 
about ^ijOoo. The dissection of the carcass 
was quite a great function. Pulleys were 
fixed for the purpose of raising it for the 
anatomist ; and the operation took place in the 
exhibition-room* lined for the purpose with 
nice green baize, and, of course, packed with 
spectators. Then, and not till then, was it found 
that Chunee had been 
driven mad with 
toothache. The prin- 
cipal portion of the 
diseased tusk is here 
shown ; and it is 
evident that this was 
a case of ma I aux 
dents on a very large 

There remains an 
amazing sequel, re- 
lated to me by Sir 
William Flower — 
most courteous and 
delightful of men t 
and director of the 
Natural History 
Museum. In 1861 
Sir William took 
charge of the 
museum at the 
College of Surgeons; 


and exactly fifty years after the tragedy 
of Exeter Change — namely, in 1876 — a 
man railed upon my informant at his office 
and produced an ivory splinter, saying that 
his father had told him it was knocked off 
Chunee's tusk by a shot during the great battle. 

S i r W i 1 1 i a m 
immediately took 
the man into the 
museum, applied 
the hit of ivory 
to Chunee's tusk t 
and, behold, it 
fitted exactly ! 

One o ft en 
hears of world- 
lings who, if they 
pray at all, pray 
mechan i ca i ly 
and without devotion. Now, the Tibetans 
are devout enough, yet they pray mostly by 
machines, such as are shown in the next illus- 
tration, which depicts a few praying - mills. 
The cylinders contain copies of the Sacred 
Writings, and revolve upon the spindle that 
passes through the centre of each. The 
instrument is held in the hand, and whirled 
round by means of the weight hanging at the 
side. The mere revolutions of the Sacred 
Writings are held to be efficacious prayers. 
As a fact, the I,amaism of Tibet is a religion 
pourrire—zt any rate, from our point of view. 
I am assured that in the Buddhist temples in 
that remote region, grotesque articles — such as 
41 Old Tom " bottles with gaudy labels, and 
tailors 1 pattern - books — have been found 






doing duty as decorative objects. One of the 
last-mentioned bore the cash prices of coats 
and trousers, and was hung lengthwise on 
the wall 

Apart from hand pray ing-m ills, there are 
others on a larger scale worked by wind and 
hydraulic power; and in some of these 
the Lamaistic formula, "Om-ma-ni pad-me 
Hum," is printed hundreds of millions of 
times* I next show a sash or girdle of richly- 
carved human bones, also from Tibet, and 
forming an indispensable part of the outfit of 
a necromancer. The latter is called Nag-pa, 
probably because he is objectionable and a 
nuisance. This is, however, a generic designa- 
tion given to the 
rest of all his 
numerous tribe, 
who are as a rule 
illiterate, fearfully 
and wonderfully 
dressed, and 
closely allied to 
the original type 
of Tibetan devil 
dancer. Besides 
this girdle, Nagpa 
also carries some 
weapon where- 
with to stab the 
den ions against 
whom it is neces- 
sary to operate. 

In the next illu- 
stration is shown 
the sarcophagus 
of Seti L, which 
was discovered by 
Belzoni in 1819. 

The career of Giovanni Batista Belzoni, by 
the way, is one long romance. A poor barber's 
son, born in Padua in 1778, he came to 
England m 1803, and became a street mounte- 
bank, performing feats of strength, for he was 
6ft. 7m. in height. Later on, Belzoni was 
engaged at Astley's j but he is far better 
known for his important discoveries in Egypt 
than for his performances in itinerant shows. 
Let us return, however, to the sarcophagus 
of Seti L In October, 18 19, Belzoni was 
exploring the ruins at Thebes with a party of 
labourers, when he came upon an important 
tomb at Biban-el-MoluL This tomb was iSfc. 
below the surface of the ground, and was 




wonderfully intricate. In it was found this 
beautiful stone coffin, which was formed of 
two parts, namely, the chest and the lid, each 
hollowed out of a single white translucent 
block, dug from the quarries of Alabastron, 
on the east hank of the Nile, The lid, or 
cover, had been broken into numerous pieces, 
of which there are seventeen in the Soane 
Museum in Lincoln's Inn Fields, where also 
is the sarcophagus itself. It is 9ft. 4m, long, 
and 3ft Sin, at the widest part, the thickness 
of the stone varying from 2'^ in. to 4111. 
Both the sarcophagus and the remains of the 
lid are covered inside and 
out with small figures and 

With infinite difficulty, 
Belzoni conveyed the sar- 
cophagus down the Nile 
and shipped it to London. 
When it arrived in this 
country it was offered to 
the British Museum for 
^£a,ooo, hut the autho- 
rities thought it much too 
dear. Now, as both Russia 
and France were anxious 
to possess this magni- 
ficent sarcophagus, it 
would probably have left 
the country, had it not 
been for Sir John Soane, 
who promptly bought it 
and had it conveyed to 
his house, much of the 
wall whereof had to be 
removed before the great 
stone coffin could be de- 
posited where it is now 
to be seen, beneath a glass 
case that cost ^69, 

The extraordinary thing 
is that the mummy was 
missing. Where was 
Seti I. ? and who removed 
him from his sarcophagus? 
Anyhow, he turned up 


No one knows. 
188 1 in the tomb 
of Queen Hat-a-su, but, of course, the reason 
of his mysterious visit can never be ascer- 

About this time the attention of Maspero, 
the somewhat ferocious curator of the great 
Egyptian Museum, then at Boulak, was 
drawn by trippers to certain curios and relics 
that had been sold to them by the Arabs* 
Maspero knew a good thing when he saw it, 
and, accordingly, he set his spies to work, 
with the result that a couple of Arab chiefs 
were arrested and asked whence certain relics 

Digitized by GOOgTe 

had come. At first the wily chiefs flatly 
refused to give the information, because, as a 
matter of fact, they had a perfect gold 
mine in the shape of a cache of mummies 
and ancient Egyptian remains. By Maspero's 
orders j however, the bastinado and the kour- 
bash, or whip of hippopotamus hide, were 
applied, and then the Arabs confessed. 
They had discovered a pit at Dahr-el-Balreeh 
— a long shaft that went down into the 
ground about 30ft At the bottom was a 
gallery which went off at right angles ; 
and the first thing Maspero and his myr- 
midons came upon was 
a magnificent leather 
canopy which had evi- 
dently been used as a 
sort of pall. Many other 
chambers were passed 
through, and at length the 
search party entered the 
tomb of Queen Hat-a-su, 
where, ranged stiffly along 
the walls, were found quite 
a number of missing 
P har ao h s — - Seti I., 
Rameses the Great, and 
many others — all nicely 
labelled with their names 
in hieroglyphics, Maspero 
had all the mummies 
removed to Boulak, where 
they were unrolled and 
photographed ; and Seti 
I., who is shown in this 
illustration, may be seen 
to this day in the great 
Museum at Ghizeh, while 
his sarcophagus adorns 
the more prosaic district 
of Lincoln's Inn Fields ; 
all this, however, if we 
are to judge from appear- 
ances, is a matter of utter 
indifference to Seti, 
Next in this wondrous category comes a 
musical instrument, which is at the same time 
something of a grave curse. It is called the 
Juruparis, or Devil, and you will see it in the 
Ethnographical Gallery (Wall Case No. 88) 
at the British Museum. This instrument is 
quite a lady-killer in its way ; but not by 
reason of its dulcet tones. Let me explain. 
The Juruparis is used by the Indians on the 
Rio Maupes, a tributary of the Rio Negro, 
in South America ; and it is held in such 
veneration, that if the mere ordinary squaw 
but glances furtively at the thing, she is 
promptly poisoned. Lest the villages should 




be altogether de- 
pleted of women- 
folk, however, the 
instrument is 
buried in the bed 
of a stream, deep 
in the primeval 
forest, where no 
person dares to 
drink or bathe ; 
and it is only 
brought forth on 
great occasions. 
No young brave, 
even, is allowed 
to play upon the 
Juruparis until he 
has been severely 
k nocked 
about by 
s c o u rg- 
ings and 
Much of 
the romance of the museums lies in 
the extraordinary way in which articles 
have been acquired. One day in the 
year 1874 Mr. Pierce, an intelligent 
inhabitant of the village of Lamber- 
hurst, in Sussex, called at the local 
tobacconist's for half an ounce of the 
common or villainous variety of shag. 
After tea that night he took from, 
his vest-pocket the paper of tobacco, 
and noticed that it was wrapped in 
thick, tough paper, bearing queer, old 
printed characters, Mr. Pierce at 
once called round at the shop, and 
found that the paper had been torn 
from a priceless old work — Lyd- 
gate's Translation of Boccaccio's " Fall of 
Princes," printed by Prynson in 1494, Un- 

fortunately, many other portions had been 
torn out to wrap up tobacco and snuff ; but 
the volume was at once rescued, purchased by 
the authorities of the British Museum, and it 
may now T be seen in the inner Reading Room- 
The torn leaves were pieced and repaired as 
far as possible ; and this is shown in the illus- 

Here is the un imposing throne of Quaco 
Acka, King of Appolonia, in As ha n tee. 
When the British were last upon him, with 
ugly intentions, His Majesty seated himself 
upon this stool, the pillar of which was 
stuffed with trade gunpowder, and he re- 
solved to blow himself to pieces rather than 
submit to our troops. I should not omit to 
mention that his wives were, nokns vokns % 
gathered round him ; hut these heroics had 


n **«9i, v>p 


lyi/gate's translation of i 




M's ^n-'K 


blown up with his wivf^s. 

a very tame ending, the potential martyr 
surrendering quietly and presenting his captor 
— Captain W, H. Quin — with a gold 

There are four chess pieces of the 
twelfth century, carved out of walrus 
tusk, and with a queer history. The 
illustration shows a knight, king, 
queeiij and bishop, the queen having 
a look on her face like unto that 
which comes over one who has in- 
advertently crashed into a full-length 
mirror- One morning in the begin- 
ning of 183 1 a peasant of Uig, in 
the Isle of Lewis, was digging in a 
sandbank when he came upon a 
number of chessmen — altogether 
about enough to make six sets. The 
figure:? ivere flf excellent workman- 




ship, and, judging from the costume, 
certainly of remote antiquity. At first the 
Scottish antiquaries were of the opinion that, 
as the pieces had been found nenr a rained 
nunnery, they were originally intended to 
beguile the tedium of cloistered seclusion ; 

broad bands of dark red : the ends are closed. 
In the interior, small bits of reed are placed 
transversely all the way down, forming a 
perfect network. There are also a lot of 
seeds inside, so that, when smartly in- 
verted, these trickle gradually down the 


but it was afterwards determined that these 
chessmen had probably formed part of the 
merchandise of an Icelandic kaup-mann y 
or trader, who was carrying them to the 
Hebrides or Iceland when his \ r essel was 
wrecked, and the pieces swept on shore by 
the waves. 

For the sake of distinction, many of these 
chessmen were coloured red, but the action 
of the salt water for seven centuries had 
almost washed this out ; the pieces are about 
four inches high. 

In the next picture we see the rattle staff 
of an African King, brought from the Gaboon 
(West Coast). This wonderful stick is a 
sectional tube made of narrow strips of 
bamboo, bound with rattan and painted with 

tube with a curiously loud noise, like 
unto that of a stream rushing over n 
rocky bed. The assistants of the British 
Museum very kindly took this staff from the 
wallncase in the Ethnographical Gallery, and 
gave me demonstrations of its singular 
character ; it is 4ft. long and \%m* in 
diameter. I gather that the dusky monarch 
who owned the li silence stick " would, on 
occasion, rise up in the midst of his young 
men, and ask for a hearing, knocking the 
tube sharply on the ground at the same 
time* If silence were not observed within a 
large radius by the time the seeds had 
ceased falling (about a minute and a quarter), 
some loquacious brave would certainly suffer 



by Google 

Original from 


made up her mind that her 
only chance of earning her 
bread and helping her mother 
to an occasional crust was by 
going out into the great un- 
known world as companion to a lady. She 
was willing to go to any lady rich enough to 
pay her a salary and so eccentric as to wish 
for a hired companion. Five shillings told 
off reluctantly from one of those sovereigns 
which were so rare with the mother and 
daughter, and which melted away so quickly, 
five solid shillings, had been handed to a 
smartly-dressed lady in an office in Harbeck 
Street, W., in the hope that this very Superior 
Person would find a situation and a salary 
for Miss Rolleston. 

The Superior Person glanced at the two 
half-crowns as they lay on the table where 
Bella's hand had placed them, to make sure 
they were neither of them florins, before she 
wrote a description of Bella's qualifications 
and requirements in a formidable-looking 
, M Age ? " she asked, curtly* 

*' Eighteen, last July." 

4i Any accomplishments ? H 

" No ; lam not at all accomplished. If I 
were I should want to be a governess — a 
companion seems the lowest stage." 

" We have some highly accomplished ladies 
on our books as companions, or chaperon 

" Oh, I know ! " babbled Bella, loquacious 

Vol jti.-24. 

in her youthful candour, " But that is quite 
a different thing. Mother hasn't been able 
to afford a piano since I was twelve years old, 
so I'm afraid I've forgotten how to play. 
And I have had to help mother with her 
needlework, so there hasn't been much time 
to study," 

"Please don't waste time upon explaining 
what you can't do, but kindly tell me any- 
thing you can do," said the Superior Person, 
crush ingly, with her pen poised between 
delicate fingers waiting to write* " Can you 
read aloud for two or three hours at a stretch ? 
Are you active and handy; an early riser, a 
good walker, sweet tempered, and obliging?" 

" I can say yes to all those questions 
except about the sweetness. I think I have 
a pretty good temper, and I should be 
anxious to oblige anybody who paid for my 
services, I should want them to feel that I 
was really earning my salary." 

"The kind of ladies who come to me 
would not care for a talkative companion/ 1 
said the Person, severely, having finished 
writing in her book. u My connection lies 
chiefly among the aristocracy, and in that 
class considerable deference is expected." 

"Oh, of course," said Bella; "but it's 
quite different when I'm talking to you. I 
want to tell you all about myself once and 
for ever," 

H I am glad it is to be only once ! " said 
the Person, with the edges of her lips. 

The Person was of uncertain age, tightly 
laced in a black silk gown. She had a 
powdery complexion and a handsome clump 




of somebody else's hair on the top of her 
head. It may be that Bella's girlish fresh- 
ness and vivacity had an irritating effect 
upon nerves weakened by an eight hours 
day in that over - heated second floor in 
Harbeck Street. To Bella the official apart- 
ment, with its Brussels carpet, velvet cur- 
tains and velvet chairs, and French clock, 
ticking loud on the marble chimney-piece^ 
suggested the luxury of a palace, as com- 
pared with another second floor in Walworth 
where Mrs. Rolleston and her daughter had 
managed to exist for the last six years. 

" Do you think you have anything on your 
books that would suit me? T> faltered Bella, 
after a pause. 

"Oh, dear, no; I have nothing in view at 
present," answered the Person, who had 
swept Bella's half-crowns into a drawer, 
absent-mindedly, with the tips of her fingers. 
** You see, you are so very unformed — so 
much too young to be companion to a lady 
of position. It is a pity you have not enough 
education for a nursery governess ; that 
would be more in your line." 

" And do you think it will be very long 
before you can get me a situation ? 71 asked 
Bella, doubtfully. 

being a burden to hen 1 want a salary that I 
can share with her/' 

" There won't be much margin for 
sharing in the salary you are likely to get 
at your age — and with your— -very — un- 
formed manners," said the Person, who 
found Bella's peony cheeks, bright eyes, and 
unbridled vivacity more and more oppressive. 

" Perhaps if you'd be kind enough to give 
me back the fee I could take it to an agency 
where the connection isn't quite so aristo- 
cratic," said Bella, who — as she told her 
mother in her recital of the interview — was 
determined not to be sat upon. 

" You will find no agency that can do 
more for you than mine, 11 replied the Person, 
whose harpy fingers never relinquished coin. 
" You will have to wait for your opportunity. 
Yours is an exceptional case : but I will bear 
you in mind, and if anything suitable offers I 
will write to you, I cannot say more than 

The half-contemptuous bend of the stately 
head, weighted with borrowed hair, indicated 
the end of the interview. Bella went back 
to Walworth — tramped sturdily every inch of 
the way in the September afternoon— and 
"took off" the Superior Person for the 


" I really cannot say. Have you any par- 
ticular reason for being so impatient — not a 
love affair, I hope ? " 

"A love affair I " cried Bella, with flaming 
cheeks. "What utter nonsense. I want a 
situation because mother is poor, and I hate 

Digitized by \jOOglC 

amusement of her mother and the landlady, 
who lingered in the shabby little sitting-room 
after bringing in the tea-tray, to applaud Miss 
Rolleston's "taking off." 

11 Dear, dear, what a mimic she is ! w said 
the landladyOnaX 4311 ought to have let her 




go on the stage, mum. She might have 
made her fortune as a hactress." 


Bella waited and hoped, and listened for the 
postman's knocks which brought such store 
of letters for the parlours and the first floor, 
and so few for that humble second floor, 
where mother and daughter sat sewing with 
hand and with wheel and treadle, for the 
greater part of the day. Mrs. Rolleston was 
a lady by birth and education ; but it had 
been her bad fortune to marry a scoundrel ; 
for the last half-dozen years she had been 
that worst of widows, a wife whose husband 
had deserted her. Happily, she was coura- 
geous, industrious, and a clever needlewoman ; 
and she had been able just to earn a living 
for herself and her only child, by making 
mantles and cloaks for a West-end house. 
It was not a luxurious living. Cheap 
lodgings in a shabby street off the Walworth 
Road, scanty dinners, homely food, well-worn 
raiment, had been the portion of mother 
and daughter ; but they loved each other so 
dearly, and Nature had made them both so 
light-hearted, that they had contrived some- 
how to be happy. 

But now this idea of going out into the 
world as companion to some fine lady had 
rooted itself into Bella's mind, and although 
she idolized her mother, and although the 
parting of mother and daughter must needs 
tear two loving hearts into shreds, the girl 
longed for enterprise and change and excite- 
ment, as the pages of old longed to be 
knights, and to start for the Holy Land to 
break a lance with the infidel. 

She grew tired of racing downstairs every 
time the postman knocked, only to be told 
"nothing for you, miss," by the smudgy- 
faced drudge who picked up the letters from 
the passage floor. " Nothing for you, miss," 
grinned the lodging-house drudge, till al last 
Bella took heart of grace and walked up to 
Harbeck Street, and asked the Superior 
Person how it was that no situation had been 
found for her. 

"You are too young," said the Person, 
" and you want a salary." 

"Of course I do," answered Bella; "don't 
other people want salaries ? " 

" Young ladies of your age generally want 
a comfortable home." 

" I don't," snapped Bella ; " I want to help 

" You can call again this day week," said 
the Person ; " or, if I hear of anything in 
the meantime, I will write to you." 


No letter came from the Person, and in 
exactly a week Bella put on her neatest hat, 
the one that had been seldomest caught in 
the rain, and trudged off to Harbeck Street. 

It was a dull October afternoon, and there 
was a greyness in the air which might turn to 
fog before night. The Walworth Road shops 
gleamed brightly through that grey atmo- 
sphere, and though to a young lady reared in 
Mayfair or Belgravia such shop -windows 
would have been unworthy of a glance, they 
were a snare and temptation for Bella. There 
were so many things that she longed for, 
and would never be able to buy. 

Harbeck Street is apt to be empty at this 
dead season of the year, a long, long street, 
an endless perspective of eminently respec- 
table houses. The Person's office was at 
the further end, and Bella looked down that 
long, grey vista almost despairingly, more 
tired than usual with the trudge from Wal- 
worth. As she looked, a carriage passed 
her, an old-fashioned, yellow chariot, on cee 
springs, drawn by a pair of high grey horses, 
with the stateliest of coachmen driving them, 
and a tall footman sitting by his side. 

"It looks like the fairy god-mother's 
coach," thought Bella. " I shouldn't wonder 
if it began by being a pumpkin." 

It was a surprise when she reached the 
Person's door to find the yellow chariot 
standing before it, and the tall footman wait- 
ing near the doorstep. She was almost 
afraid to go in and meet the owner of that 
splendid carriage. She had caught only a 
glimpse of its occupant as the chariot rolled 
by, a plumed bonnet, a patch of ermine. 

The Person's smart page ushered her 
upstairs and knocked at the official door. 
"Miss Rolleston," he announced, apolo- 
getically, while Bella waited outside. 

" Show her in," said the Person, quickly ; 
and then Bella heard her murmuring some- 
thing in a low voice to her client 

Bella went in fresh, blooming, a living 
image of youth and hope, and before she 
looked at the Person her gaze was riveted by 
the owner of the chariot. 

Never had she seen anyone as old as the 
old lady sitting by the Person's fire : a little 
old figure, wrapped from chin to feet in an 
ermine mantle ; a withered, old face under a 
plumed bonnet — a face so wasted by age 
that it seemed only a pair of eyes and a 
peaked chin. The nose was peaked, too, 
but between the sharply pointed chin and 
the great, shining eyes, the small, aquiline 
nose was hardly visible. 

" This if, M.hs Rolleston, Lady Ducayne." 


1 88 



Claw-like fingers, flashing with jewels, 
lifted a double eyeglass to lady Ducayne's 
shining black eyes, and through the glasses 
Bella saw those unnaturally bright eyes 
magnified to a gigantic size, and glaring at 
her awfully, 

M Miss Torp inter has told me all about 
you/' said the old voice that belonged to the 
eyes, " Have you good health ? Are you 
strong and active, able to eat well, sleep well, 
walk well, able to enjoy all that there is good 
in life?" 

" I have never known what it is to be ill, 
or idle/ ? answered Bella. 

11 Then I think you will do for me*" 

"Of course, in the event of references 
being perfectly satisfactory/' put in the 

u I don't want references. The young 
woman looks frank and innocent I'll take 
her on trust" 

"So like you, dear I ,ady Ducayne," mur- 
mured Miss Torpinter. 

" 1 want a strong young woman whose 
health will give me no trouble," 

" You have been so unfortunate 
in that respect," cooed the Person, 
whose vorce and manner were sub- 
dued to a melting sweetness by the 
old woman's presence. 

li Yes, I've been rather unlucky/' 
grunted Lady Ducayne, 

" But I am sure Miss Rolleston 
will not disappoint you, though 
certainly after your unpleasant ex- 
perience with Miss Tom son, who 
looked the picture of health— and 
Miss Rlandy, who said she had 
never seen a doctor since she was 

vacc i n a ted- n 

li Lies, no doubt," muttered I^ady 
Ducayne, and then turning to Bella, 
she asked, curtly, " You don't mind 
spending the winter in Italy, I sup- 
pose? * 

In Italy ! The very word was 
magical. Bella's fair young face 
flushed crimson. 

i4 It has been the dream of my 
life to see Italy/' she gasped. 

From Walworth to Italy ! How 
far, how impossible such a journey 
had seemed to that romantic 

u Well, your dream will be 
realized, (ret yourself ready to 
leave Charing Cross by the train de 
luxe this day week at eleven. Be 
sure you are at the station a quarter 
before the hour. My people will look after 
you and your luggage." 

Lady Ducayne rose from her chair, assisted 
by her crutch-stick, and Miss Torpinter 
escorted her to the door. 

"And with regard to salary?" questioned 
the Person on the way. 

11 Salary, oh, the same as usual — and if the 
young woman wants a quarter's pay in 
advance you can write to me for a cheque/' 
I-ady Ducayne answered, carelessly. 

Mhs Torpinter went all the way down- 
stairs with her client, and waited to see her 
seated in the yellow chariot. When she 
came upstairs again she was slightly out of 
breath, and she had resumed that superior 
manner which Bella had found so crushing. 

" You may think yourself uncommonly 
lucky, Miss Rolleston/' she said, " I have 
dozens of young ladies on my books whom 
I might have recommended for this situation 
— but I remembered having told you to call 
this afternoon — and I thought I would give 
you a chance. Old I^dy Ducayne is one of 
the best people cun v:\y backs. She gives her 




companion a hundred a year, and pays all 
travelling expenses. You will live in the lap 
of luxury." 

" A hundred a year ! How too lovely ! 
Shall I have to dress very grandly ? Does 
Lady Ducayne keep much company ? " 

" At her age ! No, she lives in seclusion — 
in her own apartments — her French maid, 
her footman, her medical attendant, her 

"Why did those other companions leave 
her ? " asked Bella. 

" Their health broke down ! " 

" Poor things, and so they had to leave ? " 

" Yes, they had to leave. I suppose you 
would like a quarter's salary in advance ? " 

" Oh, yes, please. I shall have things to 

" Very well, I will write for Lady Ducayne's 
cheque, and I will send you the balance — 
after deducting my commission for the 

"To be sure, I had forgotten the com- 

" You don't suppose I keep this office for 

" Of course not," murmured Bella, remem- 
bering the five shillings entrance fee ; but 
nobody could expect a hundred a year and a 
winter in Italy for five shillings. 


" Fro.m Miss Rolleston, at Cap Ferrino, to 
Mrs. Rolleston, in Beresford Street, Wal- 

" How I wish you could see this place, 
dearest ; the blue sky, the olive woods, the 
orange and lemon orchards between the cliffs 
and the sea — sheltering in the hollow of the 
great hills — and with summer waves dancing 
up to the narrow ridge of pebbles and weeds 
which is the Italian idea of a beach ! Oh, 
how I wish you could see it all, mother dear, 
and bask in this sunshine, that makes it so 
difficult to believe the date at the head of 
this paper. November ! The air is like an 
English June — the sun is so hot that I can't 
walk a few yards without an umbrella. And 
to think of you at Walworth while I am 
here ! I could cry at the thought that 
perhaps you will never see this lovely coast, 
this wonderful sea, these summer flowers that 
bloom in winter. There is a hedge of pink 
geraniums under my window, mother — a 
thick, rank hedge, as if the flowers grew wild 
— and there are Dijon roses climbing over 
arches and palisades all along the terrace — 
a rose garden full of bloom in November ! 
Just picture it all ! You could never imagine 

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the luxury of this hotel. It is nearly new, 
and has been built and decorated regardless 
of expense. Our rooms are upholstered in 
pale blue satin, which shows up lady 
Ducayne's parchment complexion ; but as 
she sits all day in a corner of the balcony 
basking in the sun, except when she is in 
her carnage, and all the evening in her arm- 
chair close to the fire, and never sees anyone 
but her own people, her complexion matters 
very little. 

" She has the handsomest suite of rooms 
in the hotel My bedroom is inside hers, 
the sweetest room — all blue satin and white 
lace — white enamelled furniture, looking- 
glasses on every wall, till I know my pert 
little profile as I never knew it before. The 
room was really meant for Lady Ducayne's 
dressing-room, but she ordered one of the 
blue satin couches to be arranged as a bed 
for me — the prettiest little bed, which I can 
wheel near the window on sunny mornings, 
as it is on castors and easily moved about. 
I feel as if lady Ducayne were a funny old 
grandmother, who had suddenly appeared in 
my life, very, very rich, and very, very kind. 

" She is not at all exacting. I read aloud 
to her a good deal, and she dozes and nods 
while I read. Sometimes I hear her moan- 
ing in her sleep — as if she had troublesome 
dreams. When she is tired of my reading 
she orders Francine, her maid, to read a 
French novel to her, and I hear her chuckle 
and groan now and then, as if she were more 
interested in those books than in Dickens or 
Scott My French is not good enough to 
follow Francine, who reads very quickly. I 
have a great deal of liberty, for Lady Ducayne 
often tells me to run away and amuse 
myself; I roam about the hills for hours. 
Everything is so lovely. I lose myself in 
olive woods, always climbing up and up 
towards the pine woods above — and above 
the pines there are the snow mountains 
that just show their white peaks above 
the dark hills. Oh, you poor dear, how 
can I ever make you understand what this 
place is like — you, whose poor, tired eyes 
have only the opposite side of Beresford 
Street ? Sometimes I go no farther than the 
terrace in front of the hotel, which is a 
favourite lounging-place with everybody. The 
gardens lie below, and the tennis courts 
where I sometimes play with a very nice girl, 
the only person in the hotel with whom I have 
made friends. She is a year older than I, and 
has come to Cap Ferrino with her brother, 
a doctor — or a medical student, who is going 
to be a doctor. He passed his M.B. exam. 




They are orphans, 

at Edinburgh just before they left home, 
Lotta told me* He came to Italy entirely 
on his sister's account She had a trouble- 
some chest attack last summer and was 
ordered to winter abroad, 
quite alone in the world, 
and so fond of each 
other. It is very nice 
for me to have such a 
friend as Lotta. She is 
so thoroughly respect- 
able, I can't help using 
that word, for some of 
the girls in this hotel 
go on in a. way that I 
know you would shudder 
at. Lotta was brought 
up by an aunt, deep 
clown in the country, 
and knows hardly any- 
thing about life. Her 
brother won't allow her 
to read a novel, French 
or English, that he has 
not read and approved. 

44 i He treats me like 
a child,' she told me, 
'but I don't mind, for 
it's nice to know some- 
body loves me, and 
cares about what I do, 
and even about my 

1£ Perhaps this is what 
makes some girls so 
eager to marry — the 
want of someone strong 
and brave and honest 
and true to care for 
them and order them 
about I want no one, 
mother darling, for I 
have you, and you are all the world to me* 
No husband could ever come between us 
two. If I ever were to marry he would 
have only the second place in my heart 
Hut I don't suppose I ever shall marry, 
or even know what it is like to have an offer 
of marriage. No young man can afford to 
marry a penniless girl nowadays. Life is 
too expensive, 

" Mr, Stafford, Lotta's brother, is very 
clever, and very kind. He thinks it is rather 
hard for me to have to live with such an old 
woman as l^idy Ducayne, but then he does 
not know how poor we are-- you and I — and 
what a wonderful life this seems to me in this 
lovely place. I feel a selfish wretch for 
enjoying all my luxuries, while you, who want 

Digitized by GoOQk 


them so much more than I, have none of 
them— hardly know what they are like— do 
you t dearest ? — for my scamp of a father 
began to go to the dogs soon after you were 
married, and since then life has been all 
trouble and care and 
struggle for you," 

This letter was written 
when Bella had been 
less than a month at 
Cap Fenino, before the 
novelty had worn off 
the landscape, and be- 
fore the pleasure of 
luxurious surroundings 
had begun to cloy. 
She wrote to her mother 
ever) 1 week, such long 
letters as girls who have 
lived in closest com- 
panionship with a mother 
alone can write ; letters 
that are like a diary of 
heart and mind. She 
wrote gaily always; but 
when the new year 
began Mrs* Rolleston 
thought she detected a 
note of melancholy 
under all those lively 
details about the place 
and the people. 

" My poor girl is 
getting home-sick/' she 
thought " Her heart is 
in Beresford Street" 

It might be thai she 
missed her new friend 
and companion, Lotta 
Stafford, who had gone 
with her brother for 
a little .tour to Genoa 
and Spez/ia, and as far as Pisa. They were 
to return before February ; hut in the mean- 
time Bella might naturally feel very solitary 
among all those strangers, whose manners 
find doings she described so well. 

The mothers instinct had been true, Bella 
was not so happy as she had been in that 
first flush of wonder and delight which 
followed the change from Walworth to the 
Riviera. Somehow, she knew not how, 
lassitude had crept upon her. She no longer 
loved to climb the hills, no longer flourished 
her orange stick in sheer gladness of heart 
as her light feet skipped over the rough 
ground and the coarse grass on the mountain 
side, The odour of rosemary and thyme, the 
fresh breath of the sea, no longer filled her 
Original from 




with rapture. She thought of Beresford Street 
and her mother's face with a sick longing. 
They were so far — so far away ! And then 
she thought of Lady Ducayne, sitting by the 
heaped-up olive logs in the over-heated salon 
— thought of that wizened-nut-cracker profile, 
and those gleaming eyes, with an invincible 

Visitors at the hotel had told her that the 
air of Cap Ferrino was relaxing — better 
suited to age than to youth, to sickness than 
to health. No doubt it was so. She was 
not so well as she had been at Walworth ; 
but she told herself that she was suffering 
only from the pain of separation from 
the dear companion of her girlhood, the 
mother who had been nurse, sister, friend, 
flatterer, all things in this world to her. She 
had shed many tears over that parting, had 
spent many a melancholy hour on the marble 
terrace with yearning eyes looking westward, 
and with her heart's desire a thousand miles 

She was sitting in her favourite spot, an 
angle at the eastern end of the terrace, a 
quiet little nook sheltered by orange trees, 
when she heard a couple of Riviera habitues 
talking in the garden below. They were 
sitting on a bench against the terrace wall. 

She had no idea of listening to their talk, 
till the sound of Lady Ducayne's name 
attracted her, and then she listened without 
any thought of wrong-doing. They were 
talking no secrets — just casually discussing 
an hotel acquaintance. 

They were two elderly people whom Bella 
only knew by sight. An English clergyman 
who had wintered abroad for half his life- 
time ; a stout, comfortable, well-to-do spinster, 
whose chronic bronchitis obliged her to 
migrate annually. 

" I have met her about Italy for the last 
ten years, * said the lady ; " but have never 
found out her real age." 

"I put her down at a hundred — not a 
year less," replied the parson. " Her reminis- 
cences all go back to the Regency. She 
was evidently then in her zenith ; and I have 
heard her say things that showed she was in 
Parisian society when the First Empire was at 
its best — before Josephine was divorced." 

11 She doesn't talk much now.* 

"No; there's not much life left in her. 
She is wise in keeping herself secluded. I 
only wonder that wicked old quack, her 
Italian doctor, didn't finish her off years 

" I should think it must be the other way, 
and that he keeps her alive." 


" My dear Miss Manders, do you think 
foreign quackery ever kept anybody alive ? " 

" Well, there she is — and she never goes 
anywhere without him. He certainly has an 
unpleasant countenance." 

"Unpleasant," echoed the parson, "I 
don't believe the foul fiend himself can beat 
him in ugliness. I pity that poor young 
woman who has to live between old Lady 
Ducayne and Dr. Parravicini." 

" But the old lady is very good to her 

" No doubt. She is very free with her 
cash ; the servants call her good Lady 
Ducayne. She is a withered old female 
Crcesus, and knows she'll never be able to 
get through her money, and doesn't relish 
the idea of other people enjoying it when 
she's in her coffin. People who live to be as 
old as she is become slavishly attached to 
life. I daresay she's generous to those poor 
girls — but she can't make them happy. 
They die in her service." 

" Don't say they, Mr. Carton ; I know 
that one poor girl died at Mentone last 

" Yes, and another poor girl died in Rome 
three years ago. I was there at the time. 
Good Lady Ducayne left her there in an 
English family. The girl had every comfort. 
The old woman was very liberal to her — but 
she died. I tell you, Miss Manders, it is not 
good for any young woman to live with 
two such horrors as Lady Ducayne and 

They talked of other things — but Bella 
hardly heard them. She sat motionless, and 
a cold wind seemed to come down upon her 
from the mountains and to creep up to her 
from the sea, till she shivered as she sat there 
in the sunshine, in the shelter of the orange 
trees in the midst of all that beauty and 

Yes, they were uncanny, certainly, the pair 
of them — she so like an aristocratic witch in 
her withered old age ; he of no particular 
age, with a face that was more like a waxen 
mask than any human countenance Bella 
had ever seen. What did it matter? Old 
age is venerable, and worthy of all reverence ; 
and Lady Ducayne had been very kind to 
her. Dr. Parravicini was a harmless, in- 
offensive student, who seldom looked up from 
the book he was reading. He had his 
private sitting-room, where he made experi- 
ments in chemistry and natural science — 
perhaps in alchemy. What could it matter 
to Bella ? He had always been polite to her, 
in his far-off way. She could not be more 





happily placed than she was — in this palatial 
hotel, with this rich old lady. 

No doubt she missed the young English 
girl who had been so friendly, and it might 
be that she missed the girl's brother, for Mr. 
Stafford had talked to her a good deal — had 
interested himself in the books she was 
reading, and her manner of amusing herself 
when she was not on duty. 

11 You must come to our little salon when 
you are 'off/ as the hospital nurses call it, 
and we can have some music. No doubt you 
play and sing?" upon which Bella had to own 
with a blush of shame that she had forgotten 
how to play the piano ages ago. 

"Mother and I used to sing duets some- 
times between the lights, without accompani- 
ment, 3J she said, and the tears came into her 
eyes as she thought of the humble room, the 
half-hours respite from work, the sewing- 
machine standing where a piano ought to 
have been, and her mother's plaintive voice, 
so sweet, so true, so dear. 

Sometimes she found herself wondering 
whether she would ever see that beloved 
mother again. Strange forebodings came 
into her mind. She was angry with herself 
for giving way to melancholy thoughts. 

Digitized by V^QOgle 

One day she questioned Lady Ducayne's 
French maid about those two companions 
who had died within three years, 

11 They were poor, feeble creatures," 
Frandne told her. " They looked fresh and 
bright enough when they came to Miladi ; 

but they ate too 
much, and they were 
lazy. They died of 
luxury and idleness. 
Miladi was too kind 
to them. They had 
nothing to do ; and 
so they took to fancy- 
ing things ; fancying 
the air didn't suit 
them, that they 
couldn't sleep." 

" I sleep well 
enough, but I have 
had a strange dream 
several times since 
I have been in 

"Ah, you had 
better not begin to 
think about dreams* 
or you will be like 
those other girls. 
They were dreamers 
— and they dreamt 
themselves into the cemetery/' 

The dream troubled her a little, not because 
it was a ghastly or frightening dream, but on 
account of sensations which she had never 
felt before in sleep — a whirring of wheels 
that went round in her brain, a great noise 
like a whirlwind, but rhythmical like the 
ticking of a gigantic clock: and then in the 
midst of this uproar as of winds and waves 
she seemed to sink into a gulf of unconscious- 
ness, out of sleep into far deeper sleep — 
total extinction. And then, after that blank 
interval, there had come the sound of 
voices, and then again the whirr of wheels, 
louder and louder— and again the blank 
— and then she knew no more till morn- 
ing, when she awoke, feeling languid and 

She told Dr, Parravicini of her dream one 
day, on the only occasion when she wanted 
his prcf^ssional advice. She had suffered 
rather severely from the mosquitoes before 
Christmas — and had been almost frightened 
at finding a wound upon her arm which she 
could only attribute to the venomous sting of 
one of these torturers, Parravicini put on 
his glasses, and scrutinized the angry mark 
on the round, white arm, as Bella stood before 




him and Lady Ducayne with her sleeve 
rolled up above her elbow. 

"Yes, that's rather more than a joke," he 
said ; " he has caught you on the top of a 
vein. What a vampire ! But there's no 
harm done, signorina, nothing that a little 
dressing of mine won't heal. You must 
always show me any bite of this nature. 
It might be dangerous if neglected. These 
creatures feed on poison and disseminate it." 

"And to think that such tiny creatures 
can bite like this," said Bella ; " my arm 
looks as if it had been cut by a knife." 

" If I were to show you a mosquito's sting 
under my microscope you wouldn't be sur- 
prised at that," replied Parravicini, 

Bella had to put up with the mosquito 
bites, even when they came on the top of a 
vein, and produced that ugly wound. The 
wound recurred now and then at longish 
intervals, and Bella found Dr. Parravicini's 
dressing a speedy cure. If he were the 
quack his enemies called him, he had at least 
a light hand and a delicate touch in perform- 
ing this small operation. 

"Bella Rolleston to Mrs. Rolleston.— 
April 14th. 

" Ever Dearest, — Behold the cheque for 
my second quarter's salary — five and twenty 
pounds. There is no one to pinch off a 
whole tenner for a year's commission as there 
was last time, so it is all for you, mother, 
dear. I have plenty of pocket-money in 
hand from the cash I brought away with me, 
when you insisted on my keeping more than 
I wanted. It isn't possible to spend money 
here — except on occasional tips to servants, 
or sous to beggars and children— unless one 
had lots to spend, for everything one would 
like to buy— tortoise-shell, coral, lace — is so 
ridiculously dear that only a millionaire ought 
to look at it. Italy is a dream of beauty : but 
for shopping, give me Newington Causeway. 

" You ask me so earnestly if I am quite 
well that I fear my letters must have been 
very dull lately. Yes, dear, I am well — but 
I am not quite so strong as I was when I 
used to trudge to the West-end to buy half 
a pound of tea — just for a constitutional walk 
— or to Dulwich to look at the pictures. 
Italy is relaxing ; and I feel what the people 
here call * slack.' But I fancy I can see your 
dear face looking worried as you read this. 
Indeed, and indeed, I am not ill. I am only 
a little tired of this lovely scene — as I suppose 
one might get tired of looking at one of 
Turner's pictures if it hung on a wall that 
was always opposite one. I think of you 
every hour in every day— think of you and 

Vol. xi.- 25. L 

our homely little room — our dear little shabby 
parlour, with the arm-chairs from the wreck 
of your old home, and Dick singing in his 
cage over the sewing-machine. Dear, shrill, 
maddening Dick, who, we flattered ourselves, 
was so passionately fond of us. Do tell me 
in your next that he is well. 

" My friend Lotta and her brother never 
came back after all. They went from Pisa 
to Rome. Happy mortals ! And they are 
to be on the Italian lakes in May ; which 
lake was not decided when Lotta last wrote 
to me. She has been a charming corre- 
spondent, and has confided all her littje 
flirtations to me. We are all to go to 
Bellaggio next week — by Genoa and Milan. 
Isn't that lovely ? Lady Ducayne travels by 
the easiest stages — except when she is 
bottled up in the train de luxe. We shall 
stop two days at Genoa and one at Milan. 
What a bore I shall be to you with my talk 
about Italy when I come home. 

" Love and love — and ever more love 
from your adoring, Bella." 


Herbert Stafford and his sister had often 
talked of the pretty English girl with her 
fresh complexion, which made such a pleasant 
touch of rosy colour among all those sallow 
faces at the Grand Hotel. The young 
doctor thought of her with a compassionate 
tenderness — her utter loneliness in that great 
hotel where there were so many people, her 
bondage to that old, old woman, where every- 
body else was free to think of nothing but 
enjoying life. It was a hard fate ; and the 
poor child was evidently devoted to her 
mother, and felt the pain of separation — 
" only two of them, and very poor, and all 
the world to each other," he thought. 

Lotta told him one morning that they were 
to meet again at Bellaggio. " The old thing 
and her court are to be there before we are," 
she said. " I shall be charmed to have Bella 
again. She is so bright and gay— in spite of 
an occasional touch of home -sickness. I 
never took to a girl on a short acquaintance 
as I did to her." 

" I like her best when she is home-sick," said 
Herbert ; " for then I am sure she has a heart." 

" What have you to do with hearts, except 
for dissection ? Don't forget that Bella is an 
absolute pauper. She told me in confidence 
that her mother makes mantles for a West- 
end shop. You can hardly have a lower 
depth than that." 

" I shouldn't think any less of her if her 
mother made match- boyfls." 




" WHAT A YAAiriRR ! 

"Not in the abstract -of course not. 
Match-boxes are honest labour. But you 
couldn't marry a girl whose mother makes 

" We haven't come to the consideration of 
that question yet," answered Herbert, who 
liked to provoke his sister. 

In two years' hospital practice he had 
seen too much of the grim realities of life 
to retain any prejudices about rank. Cancer, 
phthisis, gangrene, leave a man with little 
respect for the outward differences which 
vary the husk of humanity. The kernel is 
always the same— fearfully and wonderfully 
made — a subject for pity and terror* 

Mr, Stafford and his sister arrived at 
Bellaggio in a fair May evening. The sun 
was going down as the steamer approached 
the pier ; and all that glory of purple bloom 
which curtains every wall it this season of 
the year flushed and deepened in the glowing 
light, A group of ladies were standing on 
the pier watching the arrivals, mid among 
them Herbert saw a pale face that startled 
him out of his wonted composure. 

" There she is," murmured Lotta, at his 
elbow, " but how dreadfully changed. She 
looks a wreck." 

They were shaking hands with her a Ifpv 

minutes later, and a flush had lighted up 
her poor pinched face in the pleasure Oi 

" I thought you might come this even- 
ing/ 1 she said, " We have been here a 

She did not add that she had been 
there ever)' evening to watch the*boat in, 
and a good many times during the day. 
The Grand Bretagne was close by, and 
it had been easy for her to creep to the 
pier when the boat bell rang* She felt a 
joy in meeting these people again ; a 
sense of being with friends j a confidence 
which Lady Ducayne's goodness had 
never inspired in her. 

" Oh, you poor darling, how awfully ill 
you must have been/' exclaimed Lotta, 
as the two girls embraced, 

Bella tried to answer^ but her voice 
was choked with tears. 

"What has been the matter, dear? 
That horrid influenza, I suppose?" 

"No, no, I have not been ill— I have 
only felt a little weaker than I used to 
be. I don't think the air of Cap Ferrino 
quite agreed with me." 

"It must have disagreed with you 
abominably. I never saw such a change 
in anyone. Do let Herbert doctor you. 
He is fully qualified, you know. He pre- 
scribed for ever so many influenza patients 
at the Londres. They were glad to get 
advice from an English doctor in a friendly 

" I am sure he must be very clever ! n 
faltered Bella, "but there is really nothing 
the matter. I am not ill, and if I were ill, 

Lady Ducayne's physician " 

"That dreadful man with the yellow face? 
I would as soon one of the Borgias pre- 
scribed for me. I hope you haven't been 
taking any of his medicines." 

"No, dear, I have taken nothing. I have 
never complained of being ill" 

This was said while they were all three 
walking to the hotel The Stafford* 1 rooms 
had been secured in advance, pretty ground- 
floor rooms j opening into the garden. Lady 
Ducayne's statelier apartments were on the 
floor above. 

"I believe these rooms are just under 
ours/' said Bella, 

"Then it will be all the easier for you to 
run down to us/ 5 replied Lotta, which was 
not really the case, as the grand staircase was 
in the centre of the hotel, 

"Oh, I shall find it easy enough," said 
Bella, " I'nQlOMalytollrk have too much of 




my society. Lady Ducayne sleeps away half 
the day in this warm weather, so I have a 
good deal of idle time ; and I get awfully 
moped thinking of mother and home." 

Her voice broke upon the last word. She 
could not have thought of that poor lodging 
which went by the name of home more 
tenderly had it been the most beautiful that 
art and wealth ever created. She moped and 
pined in this lovely garden, with the sunlit 
lake and the romantic hills spreading out 
their beauty before her. She was home-sick 
and she had dreams : or, rather, an occasional 
recurrence of that one bad dream with all its 
strange sensations — it was more like a 
hallucination than dreaming — the whirring 
of wheels ; the sinking into an abyss ; the 
struggling back to consciousness. She had 
the dream shortly before she left Cap 
Ferrino, but not since she had come to 
Bellaggio, and she began to hope the air 
in this lake district suited her better, and 
that those strange sensations would never 

Mr. Stafford wrote a prescription and had 
it made up at the chemist's near the hotel. 
It was a powerful tonic, and after two 
bottles, and a row or two on the lake, and 
some rambling over the hills and in the 
meadows where the spring flowers made 
earth seem paradise, Bella's spirits and looks 
improved as if by magic. 

" It is a wonderful tonic," she said, but 
perhaps in her heart of hearts she knew that 
the doctor's kind voice, and the friendly 
hand that helped her in and out of the boat, 
and the watchful care that went with her by 
land and lake, had something to do with her 

" I hope you don't forget that her mother 
makes mantles," Lotta said, warningly. 

" Or match-boxes : it is just the same thing, 
so far as I am concerned." 

" You mean that in no circumstances could 
you think of marrying her ? " 

" I mean that if ever I love a woman well 
enough to think of marrying her, riches or 
rank will count for nothing with me. But I 
fear — I fear your poor friend may not live to 
be any man's wife." 

" Do you think her so very ill ? " 

He sighed, and left the question un- 

One day, while they were gathering wild 
hyacinths in an upland meadow, Bella told 
Mr. Stafford about her bad dream. 

11 It is curious only because it is hardly 
like a dream," she said. " I daresay you 
could find some common-sense reason for it. 

The position of my head on my pillow, or 
the atmosphere, or something." 

And then she described her sensations ; 
how in the midst of sleep there came a 
sudden sense of suffocation ; and then those 
whirring wheels, so loud, so terrible ; and 
then a blank, and then a coming back to 
waking consciousness. 

" Have you ever had chloroform given you 
— by a dentist, for instance ? " 

44 Never — Dr. Parravicini asked me that 
question one day." 

44 Lately?" 

" No, long ago, when we were in the train 
de luxe." 

" Has Dr. Parravicini prescribed for you 
since you began to feel weak and ill ? " 

"Oh, he has given me a tonic from time 
to time, but I hate medicine, and took very 
little of the stuff. And then I am not ill, 
only weaker than I used to be. I was 
ridiculously strong and well when I lived at 
Walworth, and used to take long walks 
every day. Mother made me take those 
tramps to Dulwich or Norwood, for fear I 
should suffer from too much sewing-machine ; 
sometimes — but very seldom — she went with 
me. She was generally toiling at home while 
I was enjoying fresh air and exercise. And 
she was very careful about our food — that, 
however plain it was, it should be always 
nourishing and ample. I owe it to her care 
that I grew up such a great, strong creature." 

" You don't look great or strong now, you 
poor dear," said Lotta. 

" I'm afraid Italy doesn't agree with me." 

" Perhaps it is not Italy, but being cooped 
up with Lady Ducayne that has made you 

44 But I am never cooped up. I^idy 
Ducayne is absurdly kind, and lets me roam 
about or sit in the balcony all day if I like. 
I have read more novels since I have been 
with her than in all the rest of my life." 

"Then she is very different from the 
average old lady, who is usually a slave- 
driver," said Stafford. " I wonder why she 
carries a companion about with her if she has 
so little need of society." 

44 Oh, I am only part of her state. She is 
inordinately rich — and the salary she gives me 
doesn't count. Apropos of Dr. Parravicini, I 
know he is a clever doctor, for he cures my 
horrid mosquito bites." 

44 A little ammonia would do that, in the 
early stage of the mischief. But there are 
no mosquitoes to trouble you now." 

44 Oh, yes, there are ; I had a bite just 
before we left Cap Ferrino." 




She pushed up her loose lawn sleeve, and 
exhibited a scar, which he scrutinized intently, 
with a surprised and puzzled look. 

" This is no mosquito bite," he said. 

"Oh, yes it is — unless there are snakes 
or adders at Cap Ferrino." 

" It is hot a bite at all. You are tqfling 
with me. Miss Rolleston — you have allowed 
that wretched Italian quack to bleed you. 
They killed the greatest man in modern 
Europe that way, remember. How very 
foolish of you." 

" I was never bled in my life, Mr. Stafford." 

" Nonsense ! Let me look at your other 
arm. Are there any more mosquito bites?" 

" Yes ; Dr. Parravicini says I have a bad 
skin for healing, and that the poison acts 
more virulently with me than with most 

Stafford examined both her arms in the 
broad sunlight, scars new and old. 

" You have been very badly bitten, Miss 
Rolleston," he said, " and if ever I find the 
mosquito I shall make him smart. But, now 
tell me, my dear girl, on your word of 
honour, tell me as you would tell a friend 
who is sincerely^ anxious for your health and 
happiness — as you would tell your mother if 
she were here to question you — have you no 
knowledge of any cause for these scars 
except mosquito bites — no suspicion even?" 

" No, indeed ! No, upon my honour ! I 
have never seen a mosquito biting my arm. 
One never does see the horrid little fiends. 
But I have heard them trumpeting under the 
curtains, and I know that I have often had 
one of the pestilent wretches buzzing about 

Later in the day Bella and her friends 
were sitting at tea in the garden, while I^ady 
Ducayne took her afternoon drive with her 

" How long do you mean to stop with 
Lady Ducayne, Miss Rolleston?" Herbert 
Stafford asked, after a thoughtful silence, 
breaking suddenly upon the trivial talk of the 
two girls. 

"As long as she will go on paying me 
twenty-five pounds a quarter." 

" Even i( you feel your health breaking 
down in her service?" 

" It is not the service that has injured my 
health. You can see that I have really 
nothing to do— to read aloud for an hour or 
so once or twice a week ; to write a letter 
once in a way to a London tradesman. I 
shall never have such an easy time with any- 
body else. And nobody else would give me 
a hundred a year." 

" Then you mean to go on till you break 
down ; to die at your post ? " 

" Like the other two companions ? No ! 
If ever I feel seriously ill— really ill — I shall 
put myself in a train and go back to 
Walworth without stopping." 

" What about the other two companions ? " 

" They both died. It was very unlucky 
for Lady Ducayne. That's why she engaged 
me ; she chose me because I was ruddy and 
robust. She must feel rather disgusted at 
my having grown white and weak. By-the- 
bye, when I told her about the good your 
tonic had done me, she said she would like 
to see you and have a little talk with you 
about her own case." 

" And I should like to see Lady Ducayne. 
When did she say this ? " 

"The day before yesterday." 

" Will you ask her if she will see me this 
evening ? " 

" With pleasure ! I wonder what you will 
think of her ? She looks rather terrible to 
a stranger ; but Dr. Parravicini says she was 
once a famous beauty." 

It was nearly ten o'clock when Mr. Stafford 
was summoned by message from Lady 
Ducayne, whose courier came to conduct 
him to her ladyship's salon. Bella was read- 
ing aloud when the visitor was admitted ; and 
he noticed the languor in the low, sweet 
tones, the evident effort 

"Shut up the book," said the querulous 
old voice. " You are beginning to drawl 
like Miss Blandy." 

Stafford saw a small, bent figure crouching 
over the piled-up olive logs ; a shrunken old 
figure in a gorgeous garment of black and 
crimson brocade, a skinny throat emerging 
from a mass of old Venetian lace, clasped 
with diamonds that flashed like fire-flies as 
the trembling old head turned towards him. 

The eyes that looked at him out of the 
face were almost as bright as the diamonds 
— the only living feature in that narrow parch- 
ment mask. He had seen terrible faces in 
the hospital — faces on which disease had set 
dreadful marks — but he had never seen a 
face that impressed him so painfully as this 
withered countenance, with its indescribable 
horror of death outlived, a face that should 
have been hidden under a coffin-lid years 
and years ago. 

The Italian physician was standing on 
the other side of the fireplace, smoking a 
cigarette, and looking down at the little old 
woman brooding over the hearth as if he 
were proud of her. 

"Good evening, Mr. Stafford ; you can go 




to your room, Bella, and write your ever- 
lasting letter to your mother at Walworth/ 1 
said Lady Ducayne, "I believe she writes 
a page about every wild flower she discovers 
in the woods and meadows, I don't know 
what else she can find to write about, ?t she 
added, as Bella quietly withdrew to the 
pretty little bedroom opening out of I-ady 
Ducayne ? s spacious apartment Here, as at 
Cap Ferritin, she slept in a room adjoining 
the old lady's, 

" You are a medical man, I understand, 
Mr. Stafford." 

"I am a qualified practitioner, but I have 
not begun to practise," 

M You have begun upon my companion^ 
she tells me." 

" I have prescribed for her, certainly, and 
I am happy to find my prescription has done 
her good ; but I look upon that improvement 
as temporary. Her case will require more 
drastic treatment*" 

** Never mind her case, There is nothing 
the matter with the girl — absolutely nothing — 
except girlish nonsense \ too much liberty 
and not enough work.™ 

an impatient jerk, and then at Parravicini, 
whose yellow complexion had paled a little 
under Stafford's scrutiny, 

" Don't bother mc about my companions, 
sir/ 1 said Lady Ducayne. " I sent for you to 
consult you about myself — not about a 
parcel of anaemic girls. You are young, and 
medicine is a progressive science, the news- 
papers tell me. Where have you studied ? " 

*'ln Edinburgh— and in Paris/' 

11 Two good schools* And you know all 
the new-fangled theories, the modern dis- 
coveries — that remind one of the mediaeval 
witchcraft, of Albert us Magnus, and George 
Ripley ; you have studied hypnotism — 
electricity ? ** 

"And the transfusion of blood/' said 
Stafford, very slowly, looking at Parravicini. 

11 Have you made any discovery that 
teaches you to prolong human life — any 
elixir — any mode of treatment ? I want my 
life prolonged, young man. That man there 
has been my physician for thirty years. He 
does all he can to keep me alive — after his 
lights. He studies all the new theories of all the 
scientists — but he is old ; he gets older every 

*Hti> uraik power is gchn-o. 

U 1 understand that two of your ladyship's 
previous companions died of the same 
disease," said Stafford, looking first at lady 
Ducayne, who gave her tremulous old head 

day — his brain-power is going — he is bigoted 
— prejudiced — can't receive new ideas— catvt 
grapple with new systems. He will let me 
die if I am not on mv guard against him," 




"You are of an unbelievable ingratitude, 
Ecclenza," said Parravicini. 

" Oh, you needn't complain. I have paid 
you thousands to keep me alive. Every year 
of my life has swollen your hoards ; you 
know there is nothing to come to you when 
I am gone. My whole fortune is left to 
endow a home for indigent women of quality 
who have reached their ninetieth year. 
Come, Mr. Stafford, I am a rich woman. 
Give me a few years more in the sunshine, a 
few years more above ground, and I will give 
you . the price of a fashionable London 
practice — I will set you up at the West-end." 

" How old are you, Lady Ducayne? " 

" I was born the day Louis XVI. was 

" Then I think you have had your share 
of the sunshine and the pleasures of the 
earth, and that you should spend your few 
remaining days in repenting your sins and 
trying to make atonement for the young 
lives that have been sacrificed to your love 
of life." 

" What do you mean by that, sir ? " 

"Oh, Lady Ducayne, need I put your 
wickedness and your physician's still greater 
wickedness in plain words? The poor girl 
who is now in your employment has been 
reduced from robust health to a condition of 
absolute danger by Dr. Parravicini's experi- 
mental surgery ; and I have no doubt those 
other two young women who broke down in 
your service were treated by him in the same 
manner. I could take upon myself to 
demonstrate— by most convincing evidence, 
to a jury of medical men — that Dr. Parra- 
vicini has been bleeding Miss Rolleston, 
after putting her under chloroform, at in- 
tervals, ever since she has been in your 
service The deterioration in the girl's 
health speaks for itself; the lancet marks 
upon the girl's arms are unmistakable ; and 
her description of a series of sensations, 
which she calls a dream, points unmistakably 
to the administration of chloroform while she 
was sleeping. A practice so nefarious, so 
murderous, must, if exposed, result in a 
sentence only less severe than the punish- 
ment of murder." 

" I laugh," said Parravicini, with an airy 
motion of his skinny fingers ; " I laugh at 
once at your theories and at your threats. 
I, Parravicini Leopold, have no fear that the 
law can question anything I have done." 

" Take the girl away, and let me hear no 
more of her," cried Lady Ducayne, in the 
thin, old voice, which so poorly matched the 
energy and fire of the wicked old brain that 

Digitized by V^OOQ IC 

guided its utterances. " Let her go back to 
her mother — I want no more girls to die in 
my service. There are girls enough and to 
spare in the world, God knows." 

" If you ever engage another companion 
— or take another English girl into your 
service, Lady Ducayne, I will make all 
England ring with the story of your 

" I want no more girls. I don't believe in 
his experiments. They have been full of 
danger for me as well as for the girl — an air 
bubble, and I should be gone. I'll have no 
more of his dangerous quackery. Ill find 
some new man — a better man than you, sir, 
a discoverer like Pasteur, or Virchow, a 
genius — to keep me alive. Take your girl 
away, young man. Marry her if you like. 
I'll write her a cheque for a thousand pounds, 
and let her go and live on beef and beer, and 
get strong and plump again. I'll have no 
more such experiments. Do you hear, 
Parravicini ? " she screamed, vindictively, the 
yellow, wrinkled face distorted with fury, the 
eyes glaring at him. 

The Staffords carried Bella Rolleston off 
to Varese next day, she very loth to leave 
Lady Ducayne, whose liberal salary afforded 
such help for the dear mother. Herbert 
Stafford insisted, however, treating Bella as 
coolly as if he had been the family physician, 
and she had been given over wholly to his 

" Do you suppose your mother would let 
you stop here to die ? " he asked. " If Mrs. 
Rolleston knew how ill you are, she would 
come post haste to fetch you." 

" I shall never be well again till I get back 
to Walworth," answered Bella, who was low- 
spirited and inclined to tears this morning, a 
reaction after her good spirits of yesterday. 

" We'll try a week or two at Varese first," 
said Stafford. " When you can walk half-way 
up Monte Generoso without palpitation of 
the heart, you shall go back to Walworth." 

" Poor mother, how glad she will be to see 
me, and how sorry that I've lost such a good 

This conversation took place on the boat 
when they were leaving Bellaggio. Lottahad 
gone to her friend's room at seven o'clock 
that morning, long before Lady Ducayne's 
withered eyelids had opened to the daylight, 
before even Francine, the French maid, was 
astir, and had helped to pack a Gladstone 
bag with essentials, and hustled Bella down- 
stairs and out of doors before she could 
make any streflHffiig| resistance. 




"It's all right," Lotta assured her. 
u Herbert had a good talk with I-ady 
Ducayne last night, and it was settled for 
you to leave this morning. She doesn't like 
invalids, you see." 

" No," sighed Bella, " she doesn't like 
invalids. It was very unlucky that I should 
break down, just like Miss 
Tomson and Miss Blandy." 

" At any rate, you are not 
dead, like them/' answered 
Lotta, "and my brother says 
you are not going to die." 

It seemed rather a dread- 
ful thing to be dismissed in 
that off-hand way, without a 
word of farewell from her 

il I wonder what Miss 
Torpinter will say when 1 go 
to her for another situation," 
Bella speculated, ruefully, 
while she and her friends 
were breakfasting on board 
the steamer. 

u Perhaps you may never 
want another situation," said 

" You mean that I may 
never be well enough to be 
useful to anybody ? " 

" No, I don't mean any- 
thing of the kind*" 

It was after dinner at 
Varese, when Bella had been 
induced to take a whole glass 
of Chianti,and quite sparkled 
after that unaccustomed 
stimulant, that Mr. Stafford produced a letter 
from his pocket. 

lt I forgot to give you I.ady Ducayne's 
letter of adieu ! " he said. 

"What, did she write to me? I am ho 
glad — I hated to leave her in such a cool 
way ; for after all she was very kind to me, 
and if I didn't like her it was only because 
she was too dreadfully old." 

She tore open the envelope. The letter 
was short and to the point : — 

"Good-bye, child. Go and marry your 


doctor. I inclose a farewell gift for your 
trousseau.— Adeline Ducayne." 

" A hundred pounds, a whole year's 
salary — no — why, it's for a — £ A cheque 
for a thousand ! ! " cried Bella. " What 
a generous old soul ! She really is the 
dearest old thing." 

"She just missed being 
very dear to you, Bella," 
said Stafford. 

He had dropped into the 
use of her Christian name 
while they were on board 
the boat. It seemed natural 
now that she was to be in his 
charge till they all three went 
back to England. 

" I shall tike upon myself 
the privileges of an elder 
brother till we land at 
Dover/' he said ; " after that 
—well, it must be as you 

The question of their 
future relations must have 
been satisfactorily settled 
before they crossed the 
Channel, for Reiki's next 
letter to her mother com- 
municated three startling 

First, that the inclosed 
cheque for ^1,000 was to be 
invested in debenture stock 
in Mrs. Rolleston's name, 
and was to be her very own, 
income and principal, for the 
rest of her life, 

Next, that Bella was going 
home to Walworth immediately. 

And last, that she was going to be married to 
Mr. Herbert Stafford in the following autumn, 
il And I am sure you will adore him, 
mother, as much as I do," wrote Bella. 
M It is all good f ,ady I >ucayne's doing. I never 
could have married if I had not secured that 
little nest-egg for you. Herbert says we shall 
be able to add to it as the years go by T and 
that wherever we live there shall he always 
a room in our house for you. The word 
* mother-in-law ? has no terrors for him." 

by Google 

Original from 

Yams frcHii Captains Logs. 

By Alfred T. Story. 


HE next incident I shall give 
is of a fire at sea, The 
narrator is Captain George 
William Banks, of the Wat- 
kato^ one of the fleet of the 
New Zealand Shipping Com- 
pany. At the time referred to, 1883, he 

was third offieer of the Piako } which was a 

sailing vessel of 1*075 tons, engaged in the 

emigration trade, and had for master, Captain 

W, B, Boyd, the first and second officers 

being respectively Mr. Hoi beach and Mr. 


"We left London on the 10th of October," 

said Captain Hanks, "and took our emigrants 

on board at Plymouth. There were 317 of 

them in all, besides a crew of forty. All 

went well until we had reached about 4deg. 

south of the Equator, our west longitude 

being jodeg. The weather was very calm, 

and, as you may imagine so near the 

E q u a t o r , exceed i ngly 

hot. It was a Sunday 

— I remember it as 

though it were but 

yesterday. We had a 

clergyman amongst the 

passengers, and he had 

been reading service 

under an awning aft, 

when one of the crew 

going forVd noticed 

smoke rising from the 

fore -hatch. You may 

imagine the consterna- 
tion there soon was 

on board among the 

passengers. We tried 

at first to keep the 

fact of the fire from 

them, but this could 

not be done long: lor 

when we raised the 

hatch to try and get at 

the fire, the flames leapt 

out of the hold to a 

height of fifteen or 

twenty feet. We poured 

in water to try to subdue 

the flames, but 

and we were compelled to batten down the 
hatch again. That was all that we could do 
to keep the fire under subjection. 

" It is impossible for me to give you a 
consecutive narrative of what occurred. We 
never knew what caused the fire. We had a 
general cargo, and from the way it was packed 
we could not get near the fire- All we could 
do was to pour in water fore and aft to keep 
it from spreading as much as possible. By 
that means we checked the progress of the 
fire to some extent, but it gradually spread, 

'* When Captain Boyd perceived that we 
could not subdue the fire, he had all the 
boats lowered and as many of the passengers 
put into them as they would hold, the women 
and children being sent down first It was at 
this point that some of the passengers behaved 
the worst, and it required all the captain's 
coolness and determination to prevent a 
panic. Amongst the 
emigrants were 160 
single men, and a lot 
of them, when they 
saw the boats being 
lowered, tried to rush 
them. Things looked 
nasty for a minute or 
two ; but the crew were 
all staunch and cool to 
a man, and with the 
assistance of the married 
men and the better- 
behaved of the un- 
married, they soon put 
the unruly ones to the 
right-about. But while 
the rush lasted it was 
pitiful to see the terror of 
the women —especially 
the mothers, who would 
hold out their babies to 
the captain and the 
officers, imploring them 
to save the little ones. 

"The boats were 
towed alongside the 
ship, which we sailed as 

in vain, fVun , j|^, bf a Wctt ,,. a^ a^gj,- quickly as we couJd in 




the direction of the nearest port- An officer 
was appointed for each boat, and they were 
given their courses and distance for Per- 
nambuco, in case the Piako were destroyed 
and the boats had to part company. We, at 
the same time, placed look-outs at the mast- 

men to vomit a black, slime-like stuff! At 
the same time the heat was so great that 
when the vessel made a lurch in sailing, the 
water seethed from her side. Of course, all 

'IHIM.S M'"'kl-[) SAM\ iOH A M I M.' [ I-. uk IWU, 

heads to see if they could discover another 
ship to help us. About four o'clock on 
Monday, the day after the fire broke out, a 
vessel was reported on the starboard bow, 
which turned out to be the barque Loth Doon. 
We immediately bore up for her. She was 
on the lee bow, as we were in the south-east 

u All this time the smoke and stench from 
the burning stores below, together with the 
paint and oil, were so bad that the crew had 
to put their heads over the ship's rails to get 
a breath of fresh air. The smoke came up 
in volumes through the crevices of the plank- 
ing — thick, black smoke, that caused the 

VoU xL-26 

the while we had been letting water into the 
hold, and opening valves — to try to get at 
the fire — all over the place. 

" About three hours after sighting the 
Loch Doon , she came close enough to render 
assistance. We told them we were on fire, 
which they had been pretty sure of before, on 
account of the smoke they saw rising from 
the Piako, We gut all the emigrants on 
board the barque, with the exception of a 
few single men who volunteered to stand by 
and help the crew- The Loch Doon was 
loaded with grain, and had several feet 
of spare fcdbSii n tef fi&Bft the upper deck 
beam|slNM®6Hi¥ OPfcHGHliS* l#« emigrants 



camped out on the top of the grain. After 
the transfer of the passengers was finished, 
the Loch Doon and the burning ship both 
made sail for Pernambuco, where they arrived 
the next day, the Piako four hours before 
the barque. All this time we had had no- 
thing to eat but raw salt pork and biscuits, 
and the water was black with the smoke. 

" But with our arrival at Pernambuco our 
adventures were by no means over. Small- 
pox turned out to be raging so violently there 
that we could have no communication with 
the town. People were dying at the rate of 
400 a day. When Captain Boyd discovered 
this, he hired an island about seven miles up 
the river, called Cocoa-nut Island, on account 
of being thickly covered in the centre with 
cocoa-nut trees. The ship's doctor and I 
were sent in charge of the emigrants, who 
were carried up to the island in barges. 
When we landed, the thermometer was 
standing at 92deg. in the shade, and there 
were four miles to walk over burning sand to 
reach the camping-ground. The horror of 
those four miles was something indescribable. 
Many of the people — especially the poor 
women— fell down fainting upcn the sand. 

" When we got to the camping-ground we 
had to build huts of bamboo canes and 
leaves There was an old barn there, and 
that was all, and in it we had to lock up the 
unmarried women of nights. There were 
eighty of them, and the 160 unmarried men 
made love to them all the day, wandering 
among the beautiful cocoa-nut groves. Here 
we camped out for nine weeks, food being 
sent up to us in boats from Pernambuco ; 
and if the life was not altogether idyllic, it 
was pleasant enough at times. 

" While we were stationed on the island, 
Captain Boyd and the other officers found it 
necessary to scuttle the ship in order to put 
the fire out. She went down under water all 
but the poop deck. When the fire was quite 
subdued, she was, after several vain attempts, 
finally successfully floated. We then got out 
all the burnt cargo, which was sold by auction. 
Nearly all the emigrants' luggage was burnt, 
and many of the poor people landed with 
scarcely anything on. There was little damage 
done to the Piako, however, beyond the 
destruction of the cargo, the galley, and the 
donkey engine, so that by the time we had 
got fresh stores from England, she was ready 
to proceed on her voyage, and we finally 
reached New Zealand two months behind 
time. In spite of all the hardships and 
adventures the emigrants went through, not 
a life was lost, except that of a baby, which, 

however, died from the effects of violet 
powder, not from the effects of the voyage." 

Speaking of the death of a child on the 
voyage recalls to mind ' an incident in the 
experience of Captain R. J. Cringle, of thfc 
Umfuli) whose sea-monster story was pub- 
lished in a previous number.* " I have 
carried some hundreds of passengers between 
Natal and England," said he, " but I never 
had a death amongst them until last voyage, 
coming home, when we lost a little boy six 
years of age. To bury that little fellow 
was the most trying ordeal that I ever 
went through. He was a bright little 
boy, and a favourite with everybody; but he 
took bronchitis, and though the doctor did 
everything he could for him, he died when 
we were about 500 miles south of the Canary 
Isles. You know, of course, that it is not 
only a captain's duty to conduct service on 
board ship on Sundays, but also to read the 
burial service over anyone who dies during 
the voyage. As I have said, this was the 
first time I had been called upon to conduct 
a funeral service, and I need not say that I 
sincerely hope it may be the last. It is 
always a solemn thing to take part in the 
service over the dead, but away on the ocean 
it seems doubly impressive. Unlike burial 
on land, where you can set up a stone by 
which you can always identify the spot 
where the beloved one lies buried, at sea 
you commit the body to the deep in the 
midst of a world of waters. In an instant it 
disappears, and there is nothing to mark the 
spot thenceforth and for ever. This is the 
trying time. When the reading of the funeral 
service commenced, the engines slowed down 
until we came to the point where the body is 
cast overboard, when the ship stopped. 

" Up to this point I got on fairly well, 
although I heard the sobs of the poor 
mother ; but when the body — wrapped 
neatly in its canvas covering,*and weighted to 
make it sink — was dropped overboard, her 
cries were such as to melt the heart of a 
stone. After that the funeral service was the 
shortest on record. I could not go on. 

" As soon as the body was put overboard 
the ship began to move again, very slowly at 
first, then gradually faster, until the engines 
were going at their usual speed, and the 
business of the vessel went on as before. 
But the incident cast a gloom over the ship 
for days." Captain Cringle added : "Another 
time I might read the service with less feel- 
ing ; but I should not like the mother to be 





Amongst the many striking yarns which it 
has been my good fortune to listen to of late 
years, few left a deeper impression than one 
told me hy the skipper of a carrier steamer, 
plying between London and the North Sea 
fishing fleets. The carrier is the boat that 
collects the fish from the trawlers and brings 
it to market- There are a number of boats 
engaged in :his service. As soon as they 
have discharged their load of fish, they start 
off back to the fleet. They are usually away 
six days ; but if the weather has been at all 
rough, the trawlers are liable to get dispersed; 
it then takes the carriers some time to hunt 
them up and relieve them of th^ir fish. In 
these cases they may be out as long as nine 
days- But as soon as they have got their full 
complement of fish* tliey return to London 
full speed. 

My friend the captain of the carrier was a 
rough, unsophisticated specimen — a perfect 

sea-dog in his way. Big, burly, broad- 
shouldered, his face the picture of rude health 
and good humour, he seemed to be the 
chosen nursling of the elements amidst which 
he had spent most of his time* He was 
occupying one seat — and that hardly sufficient 
for his large frame— of a third-class compart- 
ment in a night train from Liverpool After 
enjoying a pretty long nap, he opened a pair 
of bright, laughing blue eyes, and manifested 
a desire to enter into conversation. A word 
or two brought out a flood of entertaining 
autobiographical and descriptive talk^as fresh 
as it was original lie had been engaged for 
years in connection with one of the North 
Sea fishing companies, and of late had com- 
manded a carrier bringing the fish to Shad- 
well But for some reason or other he had 
recently decided to have a change, and so had 
been on a trip to the Mediterranean on a fruit 
boat- IJ Wb" Hfeisl Tib^£l ^cWHife HHiiAiNtQ his old job. 



u 'Faint no blooming rn lasses, that ain't — 
bringing the fish to market," said he. "It's 
all very well if th' weather's fine. Then you 
know pretty well where you'll find the fishing 
smacks, and you can get their fish, fill up 
your boxes, crack up steam, and get back to 
Shad well as quickly as you can — yer on'y 
concarn bein J to let nobody get in afore 
you. Of course, you time yourself to reach 
London as nearly as possible for the morning 
market — and the usual run from the fleet 
home is thirty-six hours. But let it be at all 
nasty weather, and I don't know anything 
that will make your hair creep like carrying 
fish to ShadwelJ. 

** It don't do to be at all narvous," con- 
tinued the skipper, pulling his hand through 
his hair; * ( and you mustn't think about 
sudden death without burial if you want to 
get your fish alive to market, I've had 
some near squeaks afore now t but the 
narrowest escape from going into the cellar 
that I ever run was last fall. Bad weather 
came on just as we were finishing our load- 
ing. We started on our journey home in 
the teeth of a sou'- west gale. It increased 
as we neared the Thames* and by nightfall 
it had become a reg'lar hurricane, I didn't 
think it was possible for us to keep above 
water through such a night, though our boats 
are strong and will float in any sea, if they 
don't get their backs broke. But I never 

saw such a night as that, and you may bet I 
never wish to see another, 

ik It was as black as pitch. You could see 
nothing, and couldn't have done if you 
hadn't, besides, been blinded by the spray. 
It lashed you in the face like whipcord as 
you stood on the bridge, and tons of water 
swept over the craft with every plunge she 
made. More than half the time she was 
bodily under water, and the beast groaned 
and screeched and seemed to draw her breath 
hard with every stroke of the piston — for all 
the world as though she was dying — aad she 
knew it. I felt the same. I didn't think it 
possible to live through that night I made 
up my mind that I should be dead— drowned 
— within the hour. You haven't time to think 
much, except of what you're about But I 
remember giving a thought to the old girl at 
home, and what she would do when I was 
gone. We make fairly good money in my 
calling, but we don't think much of saving — 
leastways, I didn't I wished then I had. 
Anyhow, we all have to take our chance ; so, 
thought I, she'd have to do the same, Provi- 
dence being for us all 

41 But, although I thought it was all up 
with us, I didn't give in. You can't do that \ 
you fight to the end. A man is born a 
fighter, and when he's in a tussle, whether 
it's against men or against a storm, it works 
up all the bulldog in him, an' he thinks of 

jQQgL ■ 

AkL SO llf-Jl 

Original from 



nothing but his grip. You feel sometimes 
you could laugh out in the middle of it— an' 
I've known men do it, spite of the danger. 
lx>rd, you do live then ! 

" The worst of the storm was when we got 
nearly opposite Southend. We seemed to 
make no headway, an 1 the creatur' was 
groaning and creaking as though she would 
go to pieces. I knew that couldn't last, 
so I called down to the engineer, asking him 
if he couldn't put on more power ' She 
won't stand it,' said he. ' Why won't she ? ' 
said I. ' She's straining now so bad that, if 
I put on more steam, I fear she'll go to 
pieces,' said he. ' At this rate,' said I, ' with 
every sea striking her like this, she'll break 
her back in no time.' "' If I put on more 
she'll go to bits sure/ the engineer shouted 
back. ' Let her go, then, and be hanged ! ' 
cried I. ' Put on steam for all she is worth, 
and chance the result. We might as well go 
down one way as another.' 

" He put on all the steam he could," con- 
tinued the skipper, " and the effect was soon 
apparent. We began to forge ahead. The 
old boat creaked and laboured like a wheezy 
old engine up an incline, but she went ahead 
all the same. Then, as good luck would 
have it, shortly after we had passed Southend 
ffie storm moderated, and we gradually began 
to think that our time was not yet." 

" And you got your fish to market in good 
time ? " 

" Yes, we were at Shadwell by nine o'clock. 
One of our directors was there when we 
arrived. He could hardly believe his eyes. 
Said he, 'I would never have believed you 
could live through it, Bill.' * Well, I have, 
thank God,' said I ; ' but it has been a 
stifT-un, and the nearest chance I've ever had.' 
' I believe you,' said he, 'and as you are the 
only one in, and the only one likely to-day, 
we have the market pretty much to ourselves.' 
Then he gave me a fiver, and we went to a 
place near by to have some breakfast, and 
while we were there he gave me another. 
That was for saving the market, d'ye see ?— 
and it was worth it. 

" Presently, up come the wife t'inquire if 
there was any news of my boat An' wasn't 
she struck of a heap when she see'd me ? 
She couldn't believe her eyes. She had 
t'wipe 'em two or three times afore she could 
believe 'twas myself." 

" No doubt you gave her a good hug to 
reassure her ? " 

" Should think I did ! " 

The next yarns I shall give are from 
the private log of Captain J. C. Robinson, 

commander of the Tantallon Castle, whose 
experience at sea has been long and varied. 
Captain Robinson is a man of striking 
presence, but of still more striking character. 
In speaking of himself, he said, "I am a 
Westmorland man, my ancestors having been 
squires of Bongate, and holders of very 
considerable property in the beautiful vale 
of Eden for many generations — until a better 
and more wholesome state of things came in, 
and their successors, despising the lap of 
luxury, scattered their enervating influence to 
the four winds, and joined the ranks of that 
noble army of soldiers who are employed in 
the manly struggle for liberty and daily 
bread. My father was the first to drift away 
from the old patrimonial scenes, and having 
passed through Oxford with credit to himself 
and family and taken holy orders, he joined 
Bishop Lipscombe in Jamaica for some years, 
and then, having been driven from the West 
Indies by repeated attacks of yellow fever, he 
returned to England and settled down as 
rector of St Mary's, Newmarket, where he 
did good work for six years, when he died, a 
young man still, from a chill contracted in 
the performance of the duties of his office. I 
myself was educated at Appleby, and still 
look upon and love that place as my par- 
ticular corner in our beloved country. I first 
went to sea in the year '68, in the employ of 
the Blackwall Line, and after making a 
number of voyages to Australia, New 
Zealand, India, China, America, and else- 
where, I entered the P. and O. service, 
finally joining the Castle Line, and taking 
command of the sailing vessel, the Car- 
narvon Castle, in '74. I remained in 
command of the Carnarvon Castle two 
years, and was then transferred to the steam 
service. I have had the honour of com- 
manding in nine of the company's ships, 
finishing with the Tantallon Castle, in which 
Sir Donald Currie recently carried Mr. Glad- 
stone and a large party of friends to witness 
the opening of the Emperor William Canal. 

'* My early days at sea, like those of most 
other sailors, were chequered with the usual 
round of amusement and privation, hard 
work and danger. When I look back upon 
those days it always seems to me a miracle 
of Divine Providence how so many boys 
who go to sea, and remain there to 
become experienced seamen, get through 
scatheless, seeing the many perils that 
surround them. I could give you number- 
less instances from my own experience, 
and as you doubtless wish to make your 
yarns ifl^pried as possible, a few instances 



of the way in which Providence preserves 
youths in the midst of perils will be interest- 
ing. When a midshipman in the La Hogue, 
while lying in Sydney Harbour, I was cast 
away in a dinghey, alone, during what is 
called by sailors a ' southerly buster ' — that 
is, a squall —and having escaped to the signal 
ship at anchor, was given up as lost, Early 
the next morning 1 frightened all my com- 
panions by turning up in the cabin, they 
thinking it was my 
ghost On another 
occasion, while sailing 
a ship's boat during a 
regatta, also in Sydney 
Harbour, we were run 
down and smashed 
up by a brig, and I, 
along with another, 
went right under the 
brigs bottom, and 
came up astern, much 
to the surprise of 
those who witnessed 
the accident. 

" On another occa- 
sion we were starved 
at sea until we were 
really reduced to 
skeletons, For three 
weeks we had no meat 
of any kind \ for a 
fortnight we had 
nothing but biscuit 
and water, and for 
one week the biscuit 
was reduced to a 
pound per man at 
work, and half a pound 
to those who were 

laid up with scurvy — the latter being twenty- 
five out of thirty-two ; and the water was re- 
duced, for that last week, to a teacupful per 
day. We were all going about watching for 
showers, and when the showers did come, we 
would tie our handkerchiefs round anything 
that would afford an opportunity for the 
water to trickle down it, for the sake of having 
something wet in our mouths. When we got 
into Falmouth, the captain went on shore and 
sent off provision^ and the men fell to on 
the raw meat as it came over the side and 
gnawed it like hungry dogs. We who belonged 
to the cuddy set a better example by cutting 
off a hunk of beef and sending it to the cook 
to fry, with the intimation that he need not 
take too long over it, as we did not wish it to 
be overdone. On my arrival at home they 
had my portrait taken, and they keep it to 


j^ram a phuto. ftp Tktm. 

this day as the best possible visible definition 
of a line- — length without breadth, 

11 I can give you an instance of the 
opposite danger of a boy going to sea — 
though it did not happen to myself, A little 
gutter-snipe stowed himself away on board a 
ship I was in, sailing from London* and 
having been brought to light after we had 
got to sea, he was carried before the captain. 
He was a rosy-cheeked, smart-looking little 

fellow ; but his cheek 
paled and his eye 
dimmed before the 
harsh looks and 
threatening words of 
the captain. * Which 
shall it be,' at length 
said the skipper — - 
'four dozen with a 
rope's end, or go up 
the mast for four 
hours? Which do 
you prefer ? ' The 
little f el low look e d 
up at the swaying 
masts and from them 
into the captain's face; 
then in a tremulous 
voice he said he would 
rather have the four 
dozen. He got no- 
thing, of course, but 
was set to work, and 
became one of the 
ship's boys. Harry 
soon developed into 
a prime favourite with 
everybody on board; 
he was smart and 
active, and as the 
life agreed with him he became quite fat. 

" It is the custom on board ship to have 
plum duff— that is, plum-pudding — on Sun- 
days and Thursdays. One Sunday a pudding 
was placed before the captain* It weighed 
at least a pound, and as everybody declined 
to be served with any, he said, * Somebody 
has got to eat it/ and told the steward to 
fetch the boy Harry. He came up, and the 
captain asked him if he would like some 
plum - pudding. * Yes, sir, 1 said the boy. 
The skipper told the steward to seat him 
on the beam in the skylight —over the top of 
the table. This was done, and the plum-duff 
and a spoon handed up to him. t You are 
not coming down out of that until you have 
finished the pudding/ said the captain. The 
dinner went on, and had been nearly com- 


/toU. Bator jstrtet. 





skylight, the captain asked him if he had 
finished the pudding. Harry said he had. 
The steward was ordered to lift him down. 
When this was done the captain said, ' Come 
here, sir! Did you enjoy that pudding?' 
* Yes, sir, please, sir/ said the boy. ' But 1 
should have enjoyed it much better if I had 
not already had a good dinner' — a reply 
which elicited a hearty laugh from all present. 
11 While on the subject of food on board 
ship, I may as well give you a yarn or two in 
which I acted as cook. It is a good thing 
for a lad who intends trying his luck at sea 
to learn a little about cookery. My educa- 
tion was not attended to in this direction, 
and on the few occasions when I have turned 
my hand to the culinary art it has been for 
the most part with indifferent success- But 
on one occasion I may pride myself on the 
result of my labours. We had been wrecked 
and were living for the time on a desert 

island on the coast of South 
America. There were a hun- 
dred and ten of us in all, crew 
and passengers ; and amongst 
the latter was a young lady 
who was very delicate and, 
likewise, very pretty, who could 
not touch the food prepared in 
the rough way we had at our 
On noticing this, 
being naturally 
moved hy beauty 
and suffering, I took 
a line and hastened 
to the rocks, and, 
after a deal of 
trouble, caught a 
decent-looking fish, 
which I prepared 
in the usual way, 
I scraped the scales 
off the skin, took 
nut the entrails, toasted 
it on a ramrod over the 
fire, browned it nicely, 
[iiid then, putting it on 
a biscuit with a little 
pepper and salt, I took 
]L to the young lady, 
telling her that I had 
^ot it on purpose for 
her, and she must eat a 
little. She did so, and 
I believe it was the 
means of so tickling her 
palate, that from that 
day she took quite 
naturally to her food 
■' My second experience in the culinary art 
had a different sort of ending. Having arrived 
in the Port of London from Australia, the 
captain sent for his wife from the north of 
England to live with htm while in dock, The 
next morning after her arrival, having come 
on board the vessel from my lodgings, the 
captain heard me moving about, and called 
out to know if there was no breakfast I 
said no, there was no breakfast and no 
cook. He then begged me to go ajid 
buy some meat and cook them something 
for breakfast. I replied that I was no 
cook, but that I would get something and 
see if I could make a stew. Having pro- 
cured some steak and onions and potatoes, I 
proceeded to make what I thought was a very 
nice Irish stew. The smell of it was very 
appetizing, and .whep placed in the cuddy, 
the captain and. his wile did not need much 
pressUf^l VtER'iiT-VdL-) BiftAlC hWGAtilit-n he had 



had a plate of it the skipper hurried away to 
dress, in order to go and enter the ship at the 
Custom s, leaving his wife still at table. After 
he had left, Mrs. Skipper devoured two or 
three more platefuls of the stew. Indeed, I 
thought she would never finish, and was not 
a little disgusted, although she did praise 
my cooking. After a while, however, she 
became violently sick, and remained so 
for several hours, all the while blaming 
me for having put so me deleterious com pound 
in the stew, I could not think what had 
happened at the time> but have since learned 
that copper pans should always be carefully 
cleaned before being used — which I, only a 
first mate, and no cook, had not done. 

* l Talking about wives/' said Captain Robin- 
son, "reminds me of my own wife, whom 
I first met at sea." He then proceeded to 
narrate the following yarn ; " We had set out 
from Plymouth, where we took up passengers 
for New Zealand, and were bowling along in 
fine breezy weather across the Bay of Biscay. 
I being the chief officer^ the captain and 
I were walking up and down the deck 
yarning, when the steward struggled up 
the ladder with a bundle, and deposited 
it on the deck, put a pillow under 
one end of it, and disappeared. Shortly 
afterwards he appeared with a second, and 
deposited it in the same manner, and then 
with a third, The captain and 
at a respectful dis- 
tance, concluded 
that he was hand 
ling human beings, 
and from the way 
in which they were 
bundled up that 
they were femi 
nine. Drawing up 
towards them 
stealthily, the old 
man pointed his 
finger at them, 
and whispered ; 
* Ladies — cham- 
pagne ! ' 1 went 
down below, and 
got a bottle of 
champagne ; and, 
as the ship was 
rolling about, 1 
took a teacup, fear- 
ing a glass would 
come to grief. 
Having opened the 
bottle, I handed it 
to the captain. He 

approached the first of the bundles, funked 
it, and came back. He then told me to take 
the champagne to the ladies. I made an 
attempt to do so t but being at that time 
as bashful as the captain, I also shirked the 
job, and told him it was his business and not 
mine, Whereupon he ordered me to go and 
give it them at once. Having approached 
the first bundle, I knelt down to summon up 
courage to lift up the rug that covered her, 
when the old man brought matters to a crisis 
by giving her a kick. Instantly a pair of 
black eyes, looking startled and indignant, 
showed themselves from under the wrappings, 
and I explained as well as I could that it 
was not I who had thus called her attention, 
but the captain, who wished her to have a 
little champagne, as he thought it would do 
her good* Having taken a little with the 
blandest smile, she asked if she might give a 
little to the other ladies, and sick as she was, 
she crawled on her hands and knees, and 
quietly gave a little to the two other girls 
who were lying on the deck. Then returning 
to her place, she thanked me for the cham- 

by Google 

llttW CAI-JAl 

Original from 



pagne, and tumbled once more into a heap, 
covering her head with a shawl. 

11 The captain and I retired to a distance 
to discuss the situation, and after a bit he 
suggested that they might require a little 
more champagne. I said : ' Very well, sir, you 
need not bother, I will go and give it to 
them.' Upon which he replied, very curtly, 
1 1 can do it myself. You go forward and 
haul down the jib.' 

" This," continued Captain Robinson, 
"was my first introduction to my wife. 
Being struck not only by her personal 
appearance, but also by her consideration for 
her sisters in adversity, I thought probably 
she might be equally good to me some day. 
At all events, one thing led to another, until, 
at the end of the voyage, we were on speak- 
ing terms, and before I left the port we were 
taking the passengers to, I had given her an 
engagement ring. 

" We sailed to India with horses, and then 
proceeded to England. I was to write to 
her from India, and she was to answer 
my letter to England. I duly wrote, but on 
my arrival in England I found no reply. I 
waited for a mail — still no letter. I then 
concluded that our brief acquaintance had 
proved like many others of the same nature 
— too fragile to last, and so I wrote to her to 
the effect that as I supposed she had repented 
our engagement, and that that was the reason 
of her not replying to my letter from India, 
according to arrangement, I took leave to 
release her. 

" I then sailed for China. In China I re- 
ceived a brief note from her, informing me 
that, ' having received no letter from India, 
no reply was possible.' At the same time she 
returned me the engagement ring and two or 
three other little mementos. Acknowledg- 
ing these in due form, I said that I thought 
she might have dismissed me with a little 
more ceremony, without the necessity of 
denying the receipt of the Indian letter. In 
process of time — and this correspondence 
occupied in all something like four years — I 
received a still more curt reply : ' Dear Sir, — 
I repeat that there was no Indian letter. 

— Yours truly, .' I was now indignant, 

and replied, 'Dear Madam, — Let it be suffi- 
cient, once for all, that, whether you received 
the letter from India or not, I wrote from 
India. — Yours truly, „' 

"Now it appears that on receipt of this 
note, the lady for the first time began to think 
that I was telling the truth, and went to the 
provincial post-office, where she was living 
with her brother and sister, and made 

Vol xi. -27 

inquiries that resulted in nothing. Not 
satisfied with this, however, she wrote to 
the Postmaster-General in Melbourne ; but 
still failing to get any satisfaction, she 
persuaded her brother to lake her to 
Melbourne — a distance of 130 miles, most of 
it being done by horse and trap. There she 
saw the Postmaster-General in person, and 
succeeded in so interesting him by the story 
of the lost letter and her concern about it, 
that he had the post-office turned inside 
out to try to find it. Still, however, without 
effect. Then the Postmaster-General asked 
to know all the dates and circumstances 
touching this important letter. The young 
lady told her story — the date I should have 
arrived in India, the date of my sailing for 
England, etc. Naturally he came to the 
conclusion that the letter must have been 
posted between the dates of my arriving in 
India and my departure for England. Then 
the records were looked up, and the Post- 
master-General, putting his finger upon a 
line in the ledger, said : * On such a date the 
mail steamer Rangoon, carrying the mails 
from India, sank in Galle Harbour, in the 
Island of Ceylon. The mails were recovered 
after being a fortnight at the bottom of the 
Bay. Having been dried, those letters that 
were decipherable were sent to their respec- 
tive addresses ; but the major part of 
the correspondence, being pulped up and 
illegible, was packed in bales and sent 
to their destinations. Those that came 
here,' said the Postmaster-General, * were put 
down in the cellar, and there they have 
remained ever since.' 

" The strangest part of this strange yarn," 
said Captain Robinson, " is still to be told. 
More and more anxious to help to unravel 
the young lady's romantic story, the Post- 
master-General had these bales brought out 
of the cellar and opened, and the dried-up 
paper pulp gone over piece by piece, and 
everything decipherable laid on one side. 
The whole of the staff of the post-office 
was drawn into the work, so interested 
was everyone in finding the missing letter. 
The name sought was * Sayer,' and all bales 
marked ' S ' were ransacked without success. 
But still the work was not given up yet. They 
began again at * A ' and worked right through 
the alphabet until they came to the bale 
marked ' T/ and as the letters were passed 
from one to another the lady finally put her 
hand on one and said, 'That is the letter.' 
The Postmaster- General and all the rest 
gathered round said, * That is not " S '* — 
that iilNIVER6IJYt6fcF MlfoHI&A1Ifaylor. , The 



lady said, ' You do not know how badly he 
writes; that is an "S" and the name is 
"Sayer." Jif 

Wellj to cut a long story short, this proved 
to be the missing letter, and Captain Robin- 
son subsequently received a formal note 
stating how it had been recovered. He replied 
in the same strain; but before dispatching 
the letter, memory carrying him back to the 
time when the dark-eyed beauty was lying 
sick on the deck of the Ster of India bound 
for New Zealand, and the champagne that 
was a means of introduction to her, he 
inclosed a second letter in which he allowed 
his feelings to flow in the old groove. This 
was marked not to be opened until twenty- 
four hours after receipt, but the sender after- 
wards learned that of the two missives this 
one was opened first — a woman's instinct 
telling the recipient which letter contained 
that which would be the most pleasing to 

4t I need not tell you that we were married 
not long after that," concluded Captain 

Captain Webster, the commodore of the 
Castle Line, had an interesting experience in 
Mauritius in 1862. 
He was then first 
officer of the Ellen 
Lee, which was lying 
at Port Louis in that 
island. "One Sunday 
morning," said Cap- 
tain Webster, lt we 
were told to prepare 
for a hurricane, and 
as a hurricane in the 
Mauritius is no juke, 
we instantly made 
ready. As it hap- 
pened, however, we 
did not get the wind, 
but we had instead a 
perfect deluge of rain, 
The hurricane was 
there, but as we were 
just on the fringe of 
the disturbance, the 
wind did but pass 
over us. A s t o 

the rain, I never saw anything like it ; it 
came down in a sheet It did immense 
damage in Port Louis, and caused great 
loss of life too. The streets of the 
town are very hilly, with deep valleys 
like ravines between. The rain ran down 
into these ravines and turned them 
into roaring water-courses. No fewer than 
forty persons, caught by the floods in the 
streets, were washed into these torrents and 
drowned. One of our men was missing, and 
on Monday morning, as I was passing the 
dead-house, I felt that I must go in ; and in 
looking over the bodies, I recognised one of 
our sailors — the missing man, in short. We 
got a hearse, brought down some of our men, 
and gave him a decent funeral. But the poor 
fellow seems to have been born to occupy a 
watery grave, and do what we would we could 
not give him a dry one. As you know, 
perhaps, Port Louis is a terrible place for 
fever, and as the climate of Mauritius is very 
hot, the dead have to be interred very 
quickly. Hence there are always a lot of 
graves ready made, so that there need be 
no delay in getting in the coffins and cover- 
ing them up* Unfortunately, when we 

reached the ceme- 
tery, we found all the 
graves full of water, 
in consequence of 
the deluge of the 
previous day* We 
tried to hale out the 
one selected for our 
friend, but in vain, 
for the water ran 
into it again from 
the saturated earth 
as fast as it was 
taken out ; so we 
had to bury the poor 
fellow as though at 
sea, sinking the 
coffin in water and 
putting a weight 
upon it to keep it 
down until the 
grave could be pro- 
perly filled up with 


From a Photo. Ay J- Iforiiburgh it Son. KAinburgk. 

by Google 

Original from 

How the Queen Travels, 

With Photographs by the Author — Reginald H. Cocks. 

{ By sptcial permission of tin Raiiway Authorities.) 




HE winding and 
seem i ngl y i n term i n - 
able lengths of bur- 
nished Steel rails 
which we see extend- 
ing through city, 
hamlet, hill and dale, throughout 
the kingdom, are a medium for 
the conveyance of many valuable 
lives, but none more so than that 
of Our Gracious Sovereign, about 
whose journeys I propose to narrate 
a few details. 

The two Royal journeys which 
have the most significance are, 
firstly, that to Balmoral from 
Windsor, and, secondly, when tin- 
Court adjourns south to Osborne. 
The first, namely, that to Balmoral, 
is traversed in the Royal saloons 
provided by the London and 
North -Western Company, and 
being by far the longer journey 
of the two— some 589 miles — I 
shall devote more space to an 
account of it The journey to 

Osborne, on the other hand, which is under- 
taken in saloons the property of the 
Great Western Company, is, of course, in 
comparison, a very much shorter distance. 
There i& a popular error that special signal- 
men, pointsmen, engine-drivers, etc, are 
employed on these occasions, but such is not 
the case. Suffice it for the present to say, 
that all the ordinary officials concerned are 
at their accustomed posts, but urider very 
stringent regulations. 

Let us first, in the case of the journey 
south to Osborne, make a visit to the Royal 
waiting-rooms at Paddington Station, Al- 
though these magnificent apartments are in 
the very centre of this immense terminus, 
they are so located that a casual observer 
would pass them by without notice, 

The entrance is at the front of the station 
beneath the glass covering on the departure 
side, and the illustration is taken from this 
point, giving a view directly through the hall 
on to the departure platform. 


Original from 

royal I Mm w Eft ttddwl, feAbuin BxfcH l .mmo n . 



A ci>tthrb-k ofr the koval waiting-room, with wkiting-table— paodingtom. 

are these points i 
Firstly, it is 40ft. 
in length, and at 
both ends the 
buffers are 
covered with 
thick vulcanized 
padding to ob- 
viate any concus- 
sion, Then at 
each bottom 
corner there is 
the carved head 
of a lion, and the 
steps leading out 
from the four 
doors fold out to 
twice the breadth 
of an ordinary 
carriage foot- 

The whole 
saloon is sup- 
ported by lami- 
nated springs of 
To the left of this hall (as we face it from bright polished steel, which are sensitive to 

the entrance) is the waiting-room, luxuriously the slightest oscillation The cost of making 

furnished, and, on entering, we are 

struck with the loftiness of its pro- 
portions, and notice a portrait of the 

late Prince Consort over the doorway 

on one side, and that of Her Majesty 

corresponding on the opposite side, 

This room is lighted by one window 

filled with ground glass facing the 

front, and barred on the outside with 

artistic iron- work. The upholstering 

of the furniture is very handsome, and 

when not in use is carefully protected 

by covers, which render it impervious 

to dust or London fog, The walls 

are panelled with a material of silken 

texture, surrounded by a hand- 

painted floral border, Then there 

is the writing-table, situated against 

the window, which is, for the most 

part, utilized by Princess Christian, 

who patronizes this room sometimes 

as often as twice in the week ; the 

Queen, as a rule, only passing straight 

through the hall. 

The dreat Western Company's 

Roval saloon must next be admired. 

From the exterior, in contrast to 

those of the North-YVestern Com- 
pany's, it would appear at first glance 

to have nothing unusual about it 

differing from an ordinary first-class 

„„!„„« 1„- i 1 . 1 GpWpK* ROVAL SALOON, LfK>k,NlI f1At0C6H FROM tiENTI EMANS 

saloon, but on close inspection there ^IVER^fT^CT^CHKj^N 




this magnificent coach is estimated at about 
^5,000 — and although it has been running 
for some seventeen years, it 
looks as though it had just 
been turned out from the 
Swindon works. 

We will next glance 
round the interior, which 
has three main divisions, 
Her Majesty's compart- 
ment being central, and 
those of the lady and 
gentleman attendants are 
on either side. Electric 
bells are in the central 
boudoir, which ring when 
required continuously until 
stopped by the attendant, 

Entering first Her 
Majesty's compartment, we 
notice that it resembles a 
private drawing-room rather 
than a travelling saloon. 
There are easy chairs (that 
on the left being the one 
usually occupied by the 
Queen), and a couch which 
extends to twice the breadth 
shown in the photograph. 

rrt|- A • I--N.-W* hOVAL SALOON. 

These are covered in A 

English cream-coloured morocco, 
whi eh matches the sides of the com- 
partment, cushioned with the same 
material. The doors are made of 
sycamore, with satin-wood mount- 
ings, and the handles, as well as the 
key latches, are of carved ivory, 
The border design in silk round the 
furniture consists of the rose, sham- 
rock, and thistle, which also figure 
conspicuously on the window-sashes 
and arm-rests, which again have the 
crown worked in silk upon them. 
In the centre of the carpet and on 
the cushions we notice the Royal 
Coat of Arms. The roof has a 
border of hand -painted work, and 
oil is the artificial illuminant when 
daylight is shut out by the blinds 
and curtains made of cream teddy 

Let us next view the North- 
Western Company's Royal saloons. 
The great length of these several 
saloons, as seen from end to end, is 
very striking, together with their 
handsome fittings throughout The 
upholstering in these saloons is for 
the most part in a darkish blue silk, 
which my photographic readers will recognise 
as being represented vvhite in the illustrations. 

VIEW i.ooKTSf- TliwriL<;H 





UN.W. kuyai., saloon, nek majesty s day com PAST ME NT, 

Her Majesty's day compartment, with 
its handsome ceiling of cushioned satin 
partitions covered with the same material, 
displays much splendour. The lighting of 
these saloons, as in the others mentioned, is 
also effected by oil lamps, and electricity is 
the agent for the bell communication 

Now that we have inspected the Royal 
saloons, a few details about the Royal 
journeys will not be out of place. It may 
be here mentioned that the journey to 
Osborne is by far the heavier of the two 
narrated, by way of extra luggage, for which 
a special train is chartered, taking some 
twenty-nine truck-loads, including the Royal 
carriages, horses, etc. 

The Royal train from Balmoral to Windsor 
usually consists of sixteen (L.N.-W.) coaches 
including the Royal saloons, which always 
occupy a central position in the train, and is, 
as far as Wolverhampton, drawn by the com- 
pany's own engines (the " pilot " engine also 
belonging to this company) ; but after this point 
is reached (where a stay of seven minutes is 
usually made), the Great Western Company's 

locomotives take it m 
hand, but the London 
and North-Western officials 
superintend their train 
throughout the entire 

The " pilot " engine, as 
represented in the photo- 
graph on the next page, 
is running into Windsor 
Station, and the signals 
are " down " for the Royal 
train , of which the " pilot " 
is fifteen minutes in 

The Royal train, which, 
by the way, runs at an 
average speed of from forty 
to forty-five miles an hour, 
requires the lines cleared 
of all traffic some thirty 
minutes before it is due. 
Every precaution possible 
is taken to insure a com- 
fortable, safe, and undis- 
turbed journey. At the 
level crossings nothing is 
permitted to cross after 
the pilot has run through, 
and men have to be on 
duty at all these points 
thirty minutes before this. 
Then all shunting opera- 
tions on sidings near the main lines must 
he suspended at least half an hour before 
the train is due to pass, and all drivers of 
trains waiting are required to prevent their 
engines " emitting smoke, making a noise by 
blowing off steam, or whistling " at this precise 

The approach over the viaduct to Windsor 
is strictly guarded, for beneath every arch 
men are stationed, and no one is permitted 
on any pretence whatsoever to be near the 
line or stations, except, of course, the officials 
and servants on duty, who are also forbidden 
to cause any demonstration. These regula- 
tions are in force at every point on the 
journey. To everyone who is m any way 
employed in connection with the working of 
this train, a special time-table is given, stating 
the exact time that the Royal train will pass 
or stop at each station, along with full 
particulars for the stoppage of certain trains 
— and some twenty other regulations* 

Every station master is required to be on 
duty to see both the " pilot " and train pass 
through his sUit:Ion 3 and ii is also his business 
to s^^jif g^iq-^pn^^^wtever there 




are points (which in some cases are pad- 
locked). He is, in addition, responsible for 
the signalman's knowledge of the special 
block telegraph instructions in use on these 
occasions j he has to satisfy himself that 
everyone under his employ is thoroughly 
acquainted with the full arrangements; and, 
lastly, to see that goods on luggage trains do 
not protrude so as to be near the Royal 

The Royal train, in addition to having 
electrical communication throughout each 
saloon and carriage to the two guards (who 
have, of course, the usual cord attachment to 
the whistle of the engine), conveys a telegraph 
instrument superintended by competent 
officials, who, in case of emergency, are able 
to establish a communication or connection 
at any point on the line. 

There is no dining-saloon or kitchen on 
the Royal train, as the distance between 
stopping points is at no period of the journey 
sufficiently long to require refreshment other 
than that supplied at the station buffets ; 
and the customary stay of seven, minutes at 
the prescribed stations en rouk allows an 
opportunity for the necessary provisions to 
be conveyed to the train, the refreshment- 
room authorities having had due notice to 
prepare all in readiness. 

In the 4£ bahy r saloon (so-called on 

account of its being especially adapted for 
the conveyance of the Royal children) there 
is a kitchen attached, but the saloon is seldom 
in use, and, although the pseudonym might 
suggest a diminutive coach, it is even larger 
than its amfr}re y the Queen's saloon (of 
which mention has been made before), and 
thisj too, is the property of the Great Western 

An incident may be narrated as showing 
how, at one time, the idea of building these 
State railway carriages, and embellishing 
them, blinded the eyes of their designers to 
their practical utility. So much attention 
was paid to magnificence and grandeur that, 
shortly before the trial trip of the saloon in 
question, it was discovered that no one had 
thought of testing the height, and it was then 
discovered, to the chagrin of the builders, 
that the saloon would pass under all arches * 
with the exception of one, and on these 
grounds it was found expedient to reconstruct 
it, with a low-pitched roof. 

In conclusion, I am much indebted to the 
several authorities by whose kind courtesy 
and attention I have been enabled to give a 
few defails of the Royal train; and that 
our Sovereign may long be spared to under- 
take these journeys in the enjoyment of good 
health, is the true wish of each and all of 
her loyal subjects. 

by Google 

Original from 

A Mountain of Gold. 

By Q S« Pelham-Cuntow. 

T'S a mountain of gold, " said 
Mr. Samuel New house as we 
came in sight of Sea ton 
Mountain, "and I've the key 
to the treasure ! " 

Having been in America a 
good deal, I was somewhat sceptical with 
regard to the value of this mass of dark grey 
stone that was the most prominent feature 
of the landscape for miles ; and also to the 
"open sesame "he spoke of as well ; but that 
we were in a golden region was very plain 
to anyone, even if I had not known before 
that Central City, the point for which we were 
making, was the principal town of the " Little 
Kingdom of Gilpin," and for years had been 
an established gold camp. 

As the train slowly wound its way up the 
grade which seemed far too steep for .safety, 
along the banks of the very muddy creek that 
a boy could jump with ease, at every turn 
we saw signs of the precious metal 

While the stream itself, at the time of our 
visit, was not more than a few feet wide^ the 
width of its course in flood-times was very 
clearly defined, and the bed of the now 
almost dry creek was now the scene of great 
activity — hundreds of men of every nation- 
ality being busily engaged in washing for 
gold. It was a " no man's land," the only 
notice of ejectment from which was a floods 
and when that had subsided the results were 
that fresh gold had been brought down from 

vYvm ff| 

the mountain sides above by the torrents, and 
been deposited in the bed of the creek to 
await discovery at the hands of the diligent 
crowd of men who, with no capital but their 
thews and sinews, and with the rudest of 
implements, were working so busily as we 
passed by. 

Along the banks of the stream higher up 
were the crushers, where the gold-bearing 
quartz brought from the mines is ground to 
powder and the gold extracted. A consider- 
able amount is lost, however, even in the 
best processes \ this is carried down in 
minute particles by the stream, is deposited 
in its bed, and eventually becomes the spoil 
of the herd of toilers down below. 

At every turn we came in sight of fresh 
crushing plants and fresh mines perched on 
the hill-side in apparently inaccessible places. 
"Clear Creek," as it is ealled s had become 
even more than before the opposite to its 
name, and had also dwindled down to almost 
an apology for a stream, and its banks had 
narrowed considerably, showing we were 
close to Central City, which stands at the 
head of the gulch. 

Central City is rich in gold, but however 
alluring that metal may be, the city is by no 
means attractive itself. However, it has a 
history, which is a good deal more than many 
American cities can boast of. In 1859 a 
prospector of the name of John H + Gregory 
discovered the Gregory lode, and a mining 

authority gave me 
_ — — . - 1 the following infor- 
ms a t i o n , which 
shows this part of 
Colorado — what- 
ever other gold- 
fields in America 
may be doing — is 
more than holding 
her own : — 

"From the first 
pan of dirt $4 in 
gold were obtained ; 
the following day, 
Mr, Gregory and 
his partner washed 
over $40 from forty 
pans of dirt. This 
was the beginning 
of the great Pike's 
Peak craze, which 
has endured under 
different forms in 






the State to the present day. Many thousand 
people rushed to Central City, Black Hawk, 
and Nevadaville, a continuous city under 
three corporations, and along whose gulches 
have been discovered, and are still being 
discovered, the greatest mines in the West* 
Among these are the Bates, Bobtail, Hunter, 
Gunnel, Clay County, Fisk, and Mam- 
moth- In 1867 the Boston and Colorado 
Smelting Works were established in Black 
Hawk by Professor N + I\ Hill, and suc- 
cessfully treated ore that could not be 
treated in a stamp-mill. Central City and 
its environs remained a typical early mining 
camp until 1878, the year of the advent of 
the Colorado Central Railroad, which was 
extended to Central City from Black Hawk 
by means of switch-backs, requiring four 
miles of road to go one mile in distance. 
Since that date the " Little Kingdom of 
Gilpin " has been transformed into a 
modern mining metropolis with tramway 
systems, electric and hoisting appointments, 
and all other conveniences of a well-equipped 
mining centre. The Gilpin Tramway Com- 
pany commenced hauling ore in 1888 on a two- 
foot gauge railroad from the principal mines 
to Black Hawk ; it then had one locomotive. 
They now have three locomotives and over 
125 cars, and nearly twenty miles of track, 
the line running up Clear Creek, Chase 
Gulch, over Winnebago, Gunnel and Quartz 
Hills, to Russell and Willis Gulches, In 
estimating the value of the product of Gilpin 
County mines up to January ist, 1879, two 
systems have been used by statisticians, illus- 
trating the difference between the value in 
coin and the depreciated currency in circu- 
lation during most of the time in which the 

Vol. *L-28 

record was made. 
The total product 
to that date is 
thus given : Coin 
value of product, 
$28,077, °°° i 
currency value, 
$35,000,000. Com- 
puted at its coin 
value, this product 
is thus classified : 
Gold, $26,917,000 ; 
silver, $690,000 ; 
copper and lead, 
$470,000 ; total to 
January 1st, 1879, 
$28,077,000, Du- 
ring the year 1872 
the mines of Gilpin 
County yielded in 
value to the amount of $2,431,291, exceeding 
the output of any previous year. The output 
for 1889 was $3,334,300; that of 1890 was 
$2,624,925, The total output since January 
1 st, 1879, aggregates over $30,000,000, so 
that the coin value of the yield of Gilpin 
County mines from the year 1859 to 1891 
very nearly reaches the enormous sum of 
$60,000,000, and this has largely increased 
during the past three years." 

To show the great value of these Colo- 
rado mines, I quote from what appeared in 
the financial columns of a leading London 
paper : — 

" Messrs. Eives and Allen have sent us the 
Annual Report of Mr, John J. Valentine, the 
president of Wells, Fargo, and Co., bank 
and express agency, on the precious metals 
product of the United States and Mexico in 
the year 1S94. From this it appears that the 
total production of gold in states and 
territories west of the Missouri River, in- 
cluding British Columbia, was, roundly, 
^£9, 180,000, and of silver ^5, 740,000. This 
latter value is arrived at by taking silver at 
3i*id. per ounce, which is rather hi^h. The 
largest output of gold was in Colorado, which 
gave ^£2, 43 5,000. Next came California 
with ^2, 140,000, and then Montana with 
j£ j, 030,000* Colorado was also the largest 
producer of silver. Including copper and 
lead, the total output of the United States, 
British Columbia, and the West Coast of 
Mexico t due to mining for the precious 
metals, is valued at ^21,023,000 for the 
year 1894. Looking back over past years, 
the production of gold is found to have been 
much incr<^tg],najl^|E^|^hat of silver to 

^ ^tfti^iitiamfl with the 



average of any series of years since 1874. 
The highest production of silver in the States 
was in the year 1889, when the total was 
valued at almost j£i 3,000,000 ; but, of 
course, prices were much higher then and 
in previous years than now. Last year's 
output of gold was the highest since 1870, 
beyond which date Mr. Valentine's tables 
do not go. The year which came nearest to 
it was 1877, when the total was returned at 
^8,976,000, These figures are only put 
forth as approximately correct, but they are 
the best obtainable." 

So much for statistics ; these were necessary 
but dry, so we took the two horse buggy 
that had been "hitched up" and made a start 
for Idaho Springs, passing over the top of 
Sea ton Mountain. 

It was a glorious day, and at the height we 
were at, over 8,ooofL, the air was perfection* 
Slowly we wound our 
way up the side of the 
hill, passing dozens of 
miners hard at work, 
bringing out the gold- 
bearing rock, until Cen- 
tral City seemed a tiny 
village in the gorge 
below Ui. We were 
over 10,000ft above 
sea level, and had a 
gorgeous distant pano- 
rama around us, though 
the actual scenery of 
Seaton Mountain is 
tarn?, and not improved 
by the hundreds of 
rough buildings that 
dot the landscape on 
all s ides. 

Still, we had come to 
see the golden moun- 
tain, and here we were 
at its summit. Slowly 
Mr, Newhouse ex- 
plained the situation 
and his project, and a 
map could not have explained as fully in a 
week as a glance did here. There were the 
mines, the occupants doing their best to wrest 
the golden treasure from the mountain under 
difficulties that are hardly credible, for without 
seeing the country one could hardly appre- 
ciate these difficulties. To begin with, the 
roads to the various mines are simply tracks 
worn by the waggon-wheels into some sem- 
blance of a road ; down these come the wag- 
gons with four horses bearing the blocks of 
quartz. Once on the main road their task is 

more simple, but the return journey is very 
different The main difficulty the miners 
have to contend with is water, and the deeper 
they go the worse this trouble seems to be. 
In fact, they say that in one instance, for 
every ton of ore taken out, forty tons of water 
had to be pumped. To pump you must 
have steam, and steam requires coal, every 
pound of which has to be hauled up to 
the mine-mouth. When I say a waggon 
can bring down six tons of ore and not 
take up half a ton of coal, the difficulties 
of making the two ends meet will partly 
be appreciated. Besides the pumping, haul- 
ing gear has to be kept in order, horse- 
flesh replaced, every bit of fodder being 
hauled up these inclines; wages are high, 
and unless the ore is high grade it does not 
pay to work the mine. Low-grade ores are 
valueless now, but when the Newhouse 
tunnel taps the seams, 
the low - grade seams 
will be worked as much 
as the high-grade. 

To begin with, the 
seams, which are num- 
berless, and commence 
about a mile from Idaho 
Springs and continue 
to Central City, are 
vertical : this is the 
key to Mr. Newhouse's 
scheme, and makes it 
of such value. It has 
been proved that the 
lower the seams go the 
better the ore becomes, 
but the cost of work- 
ing is so increased that 
it does not pay. The 
question was 1 how 
deep did the veins go ? 
Geology can tell us a 
lot, but it cannot, for 
certain, tell us what 
there is 5,000ft. he low, 
in the midst of a mass 
of granite; but that the seams went down 
deep had been proved by one of the mines 
going' down over z,oooft. before the water 
became too strong, 

Mr. Samuel Newhouse knew this part of 
the country well ; he had been over every 
foot of it when the boom of about twenty 
years back had brought such crowds to this 
part of the world. The expenses of mining 
and the difficulties were a puzzle that he set 
himself to overcame. , 

Taking elev;Uions/'W found that the 




difference between Idaho Springs and Central 
City was about 3,000ft, and he also saw 
that the veins, which run very regularly, were 
Lit right angles to a line drawn between these 
two places. The idea of a tunnel then 
occurred to him, and he mooted the project 
to some friends, who, while appreciating the 
idea, laughed at it, as the expenses would 
be so enormous as to preclude any chance 
of building it. Not to be deterred, how- 
ever, Mr. Newhouse quietly bought a piece 
of land a little distance below Idaho Springs, 
and started without any flourish of trumpets 
what is now the talk of every gold-miner in 
the United States. 

Sitting as we were on the top of Seaton 
Mountain, to get to Idaho Springs to see the 
tunnel required an 
adjournment to the 
"top buggy, J) as the 
instrument of tor- 
ture that was await- 
ing us is called* 

I forget the name 
of the horses, 
though the driver 
kept apostrophizing 
them by name all 
the way down the 
hill "to get up and 
paddle ! " The road 
was narrow, it was 
steep, it was also 
rocky. The buggy 
had a top and, 
being a two seated 
affair, Mr, New- 
house sat beside 
the driver while I 
occupied the back ^»«J 

seat. The builder of 
that buggy believed 
no man was more 
than 5ft 6in,, or 
else he meant to 
build it bigger and 
ran short of ma- 
terial. I have sel- 
dom enjoyed a ride 
more — my head 
against the roof, rny 
knees wedged 
against the seat m 
front, my backbone 
rubbing the seat 
behind : we tore 
down that hill at a 
rate that in a good 
road would have 
been terrific, but on this hundredth cousin to 
a macadam road was diabolical. A recent 
flood had brought out a new vintage of rocks, 
and carried off the little earth that ever had 
made that causeway believe itself a road. 
" Pet," I think that was the name of one of 
the horses, was almost down once or twice, but 
the pace saved him, Newhouse lost his 
spectacles, the driver his voice, the horses 
their wind, and I a good deal of skin, before, 
after a wild tear of at least three miles, we 
swung into Idaho Springs. Truly, if the 
material of that buggy was scanty it was 
good, or a handful of remnants on the ndes 
of Seaton Mountain would have been all 
that was teft of us, Peace be to that driver, 
and may he one day take a party of my 

^ I'iuit'.^ 





dearest enemies 
down that descant 
after a flood. 

However our 
angles had suf- 
fered, our appetites 
were not the worse, 
and Tom Hena- 
hen's, the mana- 
ger's, excellent 
luncheon w T as in- 
ward oil and wine 
to our bruised 
anatomies ; then, 
after smoking the 
pipe of peace, a 
short walk brought 
us to the tunnel 

The entrance 
shows but little of 
the great scheme, 
and might be any- 
thing of a very ordi- 
nary nature, and 
it is only when the ore begins to come out 
that it will make a big showing. 

The tunnel will, when finished, be four 
miles long, and its furthest extremity will be 
almost directly under Central City, but about 
2,000ft. below it It is about 14ft, wide and 
about rofL high. In the centre, between 
the two lines of railroad, is a waterway cut 
in the solid rock, about 3ft. wide and 2ft. 
deep, which carries off all the superfluous 
water that has in mines to be pumped 

Ftmh it \ 

j ill: ukill. 

I i 'htit*w- «l^ 


out, for the rise in the grade of the 
tunnel is enough to caxry out the water, 
and also facilitates by gravity the exit 
of the cars laden with ore, while it is not 
great enough to render much force necessary 
10 push the empty cars into the mine. Thus 
at on!y the expense of cutting the water- 
course the whole question of water is dis- 
posed of. When a vein of ore is reached 
in the tunnel, cross-cuts will be made and 
the vein followed until a sufficient distance 

for proper develop- 
ment is attained* 
No roofing is re- 
quired, the rock on 
either side being of 
the hardest granite ; 
and, indeed, its 
hardness, while of 
benefit in this re- 
spect, is such that 
the boring is of 
necessity a slow pro- 
cess. It will readily 
be seen that so 
cheap a method of 
mining will, when 
once the tunnel is 
made, enable the: 
low - grade ores to 
be as readily mined 
as those of better 
quality, and az each 
win is cut, it will be 
ntiriveu on, the ore 



Ft tun a 


being brought out through the tunnel, and 
thus the whole mining business of this large 
district will be centred under one adminis- 
tration. The company owns a large number 
of the veins, which it will work for its own 
benefit, those belonging to others being 
operated on a royalty basis. 

The company will on the land at the 
mouth of the tunnel have huge smelters and 
stamp-mills, and be able to treat every 
pound of ore that 
comes out. If the 
tunnel proves too 
narrow, Mr. New- 
house says he can 
enlarge it. There 
will be ample room 
inside in the trans- 
verse cuttings for 
sidings for cars, 
and the tunnel in 
its present size is 
capable of handling 
thousands of tons 
of ore a day* At 
the present mo- 
ment, the tunnel is 
about three-quarters 
of a mile into tliti 
mountain, and three 
shifts of five men 
each are at work 
with two Leyner 

drills for eight 
hours apiece, and 
are making a pro- 
gress of over ioft. 
a day, the work 
being continuous 
day and night, with 
only a few pauses 
to blast and clear 
away the debris, 
which is carried 
out in cars to the 
"dump" at the 
entrance to the 

Two hydraulic 
plants are ready, 
so, in case anything 
should happen to 
the one, the other 
is at hand, and the 
progress being 
made is very rapid 
for the nature of 
the work. The rich 
ore-bed will be reached in about a year's time, 
and the harvest commenced. The tunnel will 
take about four years to complete, and experts 
declare that when finished the vast sum of 
three hundred millions of dollars worth of gold, 
or sixty million sterling, will be accessible, so 
Mr. Newhouse's remark about having the key 
to the treasure was the truth after all, and that 
the mountain is one of gold, statistics, geology, 
and experiment very clearly demonstrate. 


Frwm a I 

i by K-ii. 

lis the iiEUKI tir THE MQPrQJft a| ffttlfi"! 


1 1'haU^rtijA. 


J^fROTOU was the waiter at the 
% ^5% l * ttle hotel at Avignon, where 
I had [Hit up. I think he was 
the only man-servant they kept, 
for he appeared to do every- 
thing:- 1 have seen him sweep- 
ing rooms, polishing the oak floors, dusting, 
driving the hotel cmnibus, loading and un- 
loading the luggage, carrying trunks up and 
down stairs, with as little apparent effort as 
though they were made of cork ; and then, 
added to a4l this, twice a day, with his hair 
well brushed and pomaded and a serviette 
over his arm, Pirotou served at table. 

One could not help noticing this man, 
because he had such a happy-looking ex- 
pression. His whole face laughed, from his 
bright black eyes, his lips, his trumpet- sha;/id 
nose, even to his very hair, which was cropped 
short, his teeth, and his growing moustache, 
which he was beginning to train at the 
corners -of his mouth. He was very quick 
and obliging, and he was not only a favourite 
with the travellers who put up at the hotel, 
but everyone in the neighbourhood appeared 
to know him and like him, 

When he was seated on his driver's box on 
the way to or from the station, he had to 
nod, smile, touch his hat, or wink to every- 
one we met. The fact was, he liked everyone 
and everyone liked him. This popularity 
gave rise to curtain prerogatives and privi- 
leges. Pirotou liked talking, and he was 
decidedly more familiar than one expects a 
waiter to be ; but it all came so naturally to 
him that, somehow, everyone took it in 
good part. 

Digitized by Google 

From the French of 
Charles Foley, 


When the tahk dlidtc dinner 
was over^ the things all cleared 
away, and the room nearly empty, Pirotou 
would glance round, and if anyone that he 
had taken a fancy to happened to be still 
there, why, he would make his way across 
the room and start a conversation at oace. 
It never lasted long, though, for either the 
hotel proprietor or one of the customer 
always interrupted him — he was continually 
in demand for some service or another. In 
spite of this, the very first day I dined there 
he found an opportunity of getting a little 
private conversation with me. 

11 Pve got a brother who is an officer in 
the army," he informed me ; and without 
waiting for me to express my surprise, he 
continued: u Queer, isn't it? — me a waiter 
and him an officer. It's true, though, my 
brother is an officer in the army " 

4i Pirotou, take No. i6's box upstairs. 
.... Pirotou, coffea for No. 3, .... 
Pirotou, put the horse in at once " 

He would then disappear like a flash of 
lightning and cheerfully perform all the 
duties required of him. 

He talked about hr> brother in this way to 
everyone because he was so proud of him, 
and although he knew very little of this said 
brother, yet he adored him all the same. He 
spoke of him always in the same way without 
any vanity, but simply that he could not help 
mentioning him, just as a vine-dresser must 
speak about the weather and the sun. It was 
the subject always uppermost in his thoughts, 
and he would frequently take up his thread 
again hours after and go on just as though 
he had never left tt, 

" I expect you wonder how it is, how it 
came" he said to me, in continuation, 
during his next interval. 

il flow what is?" I asked, for I could not 
im:i r ine what he was driving at, 




" Why— my brother being an officer ! " 
(< Ah, yes ; how did it come about ? " 
u Well, it was like this , ♦ . it was a lady 
that lived near our village, an old lady, very 
well off, and she had lost her son. Our 
parents were dead, and she took a fancy to 
my brother , . , you see, he was a fine-look- 
ing lad, and just about the age of her boy. 
Well, she took to him, and she sent him to 
college, at Paris, just near to her home. 
Then he went to the military school, Saint- 
Cyr , . , She died last year, and I can tell 
you it put me about a good deal when I got 

the news, for the sake of my brother y ' 

" Pirotou, answer the bell— No. 31 ! " 

I had the next instalment of the story the 
following day. 

"Well, the old lady ■" 

" What old lady ? " I asked, absently. 

The poor fellow was quite hurt to think 
that I did not remember. 

** Why, my brother's old lady, sir ! In her 
will she left him quite a good income. That 
put me at my ease at once, for you see I had 
felt anxious for him, but with this money, 
why, of course, he could keep up his 

(l But did she not leave you anything, 

** Me ! M he exclaimed, opening his eyes 
wide in his astonishment at my question, 
11 Why, no, sir— it was my brother, you see, 
that was the same age as her son ! " 

"Does your brother come to 
you ? " I asked 

" Yes, he came 
once about six years 
ago, when he was on 
leave, I'd got four 
days' holiday, and 
we arranged to go 
to the village where 
we used to live. I 
was vexed to have 
such a short time 
with him, but as it 
happened I did not 
stay the four days 
even, for I got back 
here on the third, 

II You see, my 
brother found he 
could only stay two 
days with me, for 
he'd got invitations 
to two or three 
country houses. 
Then, too, he didn't 
tell me this, but I 

guessed it— he found it pretty dull in the 
little village. Of course, it was very natural 
he should— just think, sir, an officer !" 

" Does he help you ? H I asked. 

Pirotou burst out laughing at this. 

tl Him ! help me ! Why, he couldn't, sir. 
It isn't the same kind of work we're used to." 

11 Oh! I did not mean in that sense — I 
mean, does he ever send you — any money ? ,J 

"Oh! I would not have it, sir, upon any 
account. I'm paid well, you see, sir, and I 
get a fair amount in tips, and then no 
expenses, like he has. Why, in my way, Vm 
as rich as he is." 

" Has he never been to see you again ? " 

Pirotou looked slightly embarrassed this 
time, as he answered :— 

" He'll be coming, sir, soon, because of my 
wedding. I'm going to get married, you sue." 

"Ah, you're going to get married ? " 

"Well, sir, yes; you see, it's getting time. 
I'm nearly twenty -four — and then she is from 
these parts, and we've known each other 
three years. We haven't been able to see 
much of each other, that's true, for you see 
she's lady's-maid for a lady who lives at Paris, 
and has a country house near here. They 
come for three months each summer, and I 
can only see heron Sundays after church ; so> 
you see, sir, I'm anxious to get married/' 

" You'll be changing your trade then, I 



" No, sir, not yet awhile. You 
see, we haven't got enough money 
to set up in a little business- In 




five or six years, if we save up, we shall 
be able to do it* For the present, though 
as soon as we are married, the lady's 
going to take me in her house with Louisette 
— lx)uisette, that's her name, sir : the girl 
I'm going to marry. My brother!! be best 
man," he went on, in great glee, "and we 
.shall have a very fine wedding, for, you see, 
sir, I shouldn't like to have anything shabby 
when he's coming to it— just think, sir, an 
officer— you know ! " 

" Pirotou ! Pirotou ! No. 59 wants his key ! " 

After leaving Avignon, it was some months 
before I happened to go there again. On 
arriving at the hotel, I was struck by the 
change in Pirotou, He looked quite morose, 
and it was only with an effort that he man- 
aged to smile, as he recognised me. I could 
see very plainly that he had something to 
tell me, but there were so many people 
wanting him, and then the landlord kept call- 
ing him for something every minute : " Hurry 
up, Pirotou, hurry up, my good fellow ! " 

He did hurry up, but it was not with the 
same jovial alacrity as formerly* He used to 
carry the trunks about as though they 
were as light as air ; but now they 
appeared to be as heavy as lead. I 
dined when everyone had finished, 
and I was really quite curious to know 
what had happened and how Pirotou's 
wedding had gone off. As soon as 
he was free he approached me ; but 
he did not come and lean on the table 
in his old familiar way. He just 
stood there, looking wretched, and it 
occurred to me at once what had 

( * Why, I don't believe your brother 
the officer came after all, Pirotou, to the 
wedding ? "I said. 

11 Yes, sir, yes, he came — but— you 
see, sir, I must tell you how it all was. 
First of all, I thought he would be 
sure to put up here — at my hotel, and 
so I expected to see a good deal of 
him — all the time I was free. It was 
a bit rough, sir, when I found he had 
put up at the Saint Yves Hotel, right 
at the other side of the town, Well, 
then he did not come himself to see 
me, but he sent a messenger to tell 
me to meet him at a cafe, and he 
told me in his letter not to forget to 
take off my apron and to put on a hat. 
It was just as well he thought to 
remind me of that, you see, for 1 
should never have remembered my- 

self, I was in such a hurry to see him 
that I should just have nipped off there and 
then, without thinking about what I looked 
like. Well, sir, when I saw him looking so 
handsome and so finely dressed, I felt that 
proud of him and that excited— but he just 
held out his hand to me and asked me 
whether Td have sherry or absinth. I said 
sherry, and then I lost my head, I suppose, 
for when the glasses came I just picked 
up his and drank up his absinth. You II 
think me pretty foolish, sir, for an hotel 
waiter and all, but I didrvt know what I was 
doing. My brother spoke so kindly, and just 
explained a bit about things. Of course, 
I quite understood that he couki not come 
to see me, but, as he said, I could go there 
and meet him, He did not want everyone 
to know he was here, for, you see, sir, I'd. 
been so foolish and talked a good deal too 
much about him, and, as he said, he did not 
care about showing himself off like some 
curiosity, Of course, it was quite right, you 
see. Just think — an officer ! Well, I asked 
him just to come and see my employer here, for 
that seemed only natural to me at first He 

Original from "" 
UWtVER5fTrOT^IfflimN A5 " 



explained though that he could not, as that 
put him in a false position ; and when I 
looked at it in that light, I saw that he was 
quite right. But you see, sir, it has made 
things a bit awkward for me, because my 
master, and then everybody just round that 
I know — well, they all think that it was my 
fault he never came ; they think I was 
ashamed of them, and that I did not like 
my brother to come and shake hands with 
them " 

" But, how ever did you manage at the 
wedding, l J irotou? JI 

" Wait a bit, sir, I'm coming to that There 
isn't much to tell you about that, sir. Well 
- let me see, how far had I got? — oh, yes, it 
was where I went to the cafe. Well, my 
brother asked me all about my wedding, and 
I told him about Louisette and about her 
mistress and everything. Well, he wanted to 
see her, of course; 

and so, as the — 

next day was 
Sunday, I knew 
they would be at 
church, and he 
agreed to meet 
me there* Well, 
when Madame 
Dalbert came in 
and Louisette 
after her, I just 
nudged him and 
told him who 
they were. t Isn't 
she pretty ? J I 
said, and he 
nodded, but he 
never took his 
eyes off Madame 
Dalbert. When 
we were going 
out of the church 
he just got first 
and stood there 
watching her, and 
when I was speak- 
ing to Louisette 
he went off, so 
that I could not 
introduce him 

" The next day 
I went to the cafe again to meet him, but I saw 
he had some friends with him, some officers 
he had- met by chance, old friends of his at 
Saint-Cyr. When he saw me he left them 
and came to meet me, for he knew I should 
feel a bit awkward amongst all his frier 

'"Didn't you say the lady was a Madame 
Dalbert where your Louisette is ? ' he asked, 
as soon as ever he had shaken hands, 
* 4 ' Yes,' I said; * Madame Dalbert. 1 
" 'It is very awkward, very awkward indeed/ 
he went on, * The idea of your being engaged 
to her maid ! Things turn out so con- 
foundedly embarrassing. My friends are 
going there to this Madame Dalberfs to a 
hunting party, and they want me to go, You 
would not mind that ? ' 

" I laughed at the idea of my minding it, 
hut, of course, I gave him some messages 
for Louisette. Two days later I saw him 
again, but he was quite different. When I 
asked him about Louisette, he said, * Well, 
you see, when I was with my friends there 1 
could not very well talk to the maid. I did 
not mention you, either— you will under- 
stand, I'm sure — — ' 

u I certainly did not 
understand at all, but I 
did not say so, and he 
went on talking and twirl- 
ing his moustache. 

'"She's a very pretty 
woman — Madame Dal- 
bert— a charming woman!' 
he said, 

" I did not answer, for, 

to tell the truth, I had 

scarcely noticed her even, 

for my eyes were 

taken up with 

Louisette always. 

Would it 



■ 1 Ht-iKE WATCH J.\G 141 K- 

VoJ. xl-2B, 


really be much of 

a sacrifice to break 

off this engagement ? ' he asked, after a 


iS That was just a little too much, and I 
reminded hGfri dpjqrra |we had waked for three 




long years, and how we had, both of us, never 
had a thought of such a thing as not getting 
married now, 

u He bit his moustache impatiently, and 
soon after I left him to go back to my work. 
For three days we were so busy at the hotel 
that I was not able to get off. I could not 
see him then, for he was neither at the cafi 
nor yet at his hotel. It was a week after 
when he sent for me, and this? time I was 
shown up into his room — a large, handsome 
room on the first floor of the hotel He 
seemed very excited, and kept walking up 
and down the room. Presently he stopped 
short right in front of me and said : — 

u ( Can I count on you ? Are you pretty 

t( £ Go on, J I said, l what is it ? ' for I felt 
that something had happened, 
but I did not want him to be 
ashamed of me, 

"He looked away as he told 
me the news. 'Well, it is 
just this : I fell over head 
and ears in love with Madame 
Dalbert, and — well, the long and 
the short of it is, she cares for 
me too. The only thing is, I am 
so vexed for you, old fellow/ he 
said, laying his hand on my 

" * For me — but why ? ' 

* l ( Good heavens — can't you 
see? Well, you cannot exactly 
marry her maid now ! You could 
not come to us as a servant, could 
you ? It would be too ridiculous 
— perfectly humiliating, in fact, 
for me I J 

11 I felt myself go cold all over, 
and I suppose my face must have 
turned pale, for he said : — 

u i Well^ have patience, and well 
see how It can all be arranged 

ding, 5 * he said, looking down on the floor. 
" Perhaps there never will be now, either, Fve 
waited and tried to be patient, hut my brother 
does not write, and Louisette hasn't written 
lately either, .... I suppose they have 
talked to her and showed her that it can't 
be , , . , and I don't know, perhaps, they'll 
get her to give me up yet altogether, . , . . 
I don't know how it is. . + . . Anyhow, 
they're back in Paris, . . , , It was a bit 
hard, you see, sir, for Pd been in love with 
her so long, and we'd waited so patiently ; 
and then, you see, sir, with him it was all just 
a fancy . . . . just a pretty face that took him. 
But, there, it's all the same, there was nothing 
left for me to do- I couldn't humiliate him, 
you see. He's older than I am, and I've got 
no one else in the world but him. And then 

— perhaps 
done ,w 

something can he 

Pirotou stopped suddenly, and 
two great tears, which had come 
into his eyes, would have rolled 
down his cheeks, but, making a 
desperate effort, he blinked two 
or three times and so made them dis- 

"But how about the wedding, then?" I 
asked, after a brief pause. 

u Well, you see, sir, there's been no wed- 


too, sir, just think -an officer ! I couldn't have 
stood in his way, sir ; but it is a bit hard." 

And this time, as blinking was of no use, 
poor Pirotou moved away and busied himseif 
shutting the window. 

by Google 

Original from 

A Forgotten Genius. 

By C. Van Noorden. 

SERVIERE was born at 
Lyons in 1596, and on reach- 
ing the age of fourteen, 
followed the example of his 
ancestors and took up the 
profession of arms. He was sent to serve 
in Italy, where, at the Siege of Verceil, his 
daring cost him an eye, which was carried 
away by a splinter from a gun. A first 
experience so dearly bought, far from daunt- 
ing him, did not prevent his taking part in 
all the other engagements of this war. On 
its conclusion he went to serve for some 
time in Flanders, in the troops of the Dutch 
States, at that time the finest school of 
military discipline. 

From here he entered into the service of 
the Emperor Ferdinand of Germany, where 
he acquired a great reputation, above all at 
the Battle of Prague. After this he was 
obliged to accompany Ferdinand's Ambas- 
sador to Constantinople, where he remained 
six months ; but war having broken out again 
in France, he immediately returned to give to 
his King and country the tokens of his zeal, 
and to consecrate to them the happy talents 
with which he was gifted, and the experience 
he had gained in the service of foreign 
Princes. He did so with much distinction, 
especially at the sieges of Montauban, 
Tonnins, Briteste, St. Foy, N^grepelisse, 
Nimes, and Privat, winning high praise from 
the King. 

Among a great number of brilliant actions 
we will content ourselves with one, which will 
suffice to show both his genius and courage. 
He was at the time senior captain of the 
regiment of Infantry of Aigue-Bonne, and 
commanded on the banks of the Rhone 
on the Tarascon side, when the necessity 
arose of helping the town of Beaucaire, then 
besieged by Montmorency. 

Great difficulties presented themselves to 
be surmounted : the town was blockaded on 
the land side, the bridges between Tarascon 
and Beaucaire had been broken down, the 
river had to be crossed in sight of the enemy, 

Digitized by CjOOglC 

and, to crown all, the citadel was in the 
power of the besiegers. 

So many obstacles seemed to make the 
enterprise impossible when M. de Servifere, 
who had orders to essay the relief, profiting 
by a few boats which fell in his way, 
combined them very skilfully into a kind of 
flying bridge with protective parapets of 
thick beams. By means of this contrivance, 
which he invented on the spot, and con- 
structed with great rapidity, he transferred 
the whole of his regiment to the further 
bank ; and, in spite of a heavy fire and the 
strenuous efforts of the enemy, threw him- 
self with but slight loss into the besieged 
town, and was the cause of the raising of the 
siege a few days later. 

The renown of this feat having spread 
to the enemy's army, Montmorency spared 
no efforts to attach to himself so brilliant 
an officer, using as an argument " that he 
had been left without reward," and offering 
him employ and appointments much more 
considerable than those he held in the King's 
army— but all without effect. Some time 
afterwards, having been made Lieutenant- 
Colonel of his regiment of Aigue-Bonne, 
he assisted at the battles of Vellane and 
Tesin, at the retreat of Guiers, at the sieges 
of Turin, Casal, and Pignerol, and on many 
other occasions. 

His superior genius for mathematics, 
especially for fortifications, and the great ex- 
perience he had acquired were so universally 
recognised, that he was intrusted with the 
control of works in most of the later sieges 
just mentioned. 

Finally, after so many labours, covered 
with glory and seamed with scars, he retired 
from service, to taste the sweets of repose, 
occupying the rest of his life in many 
ingenious inventions, comprising, amongst 
others, turnings, hydraulic machines, hand 
and wind-mills, boats with paddle-wheels, 
and especially clocks. M. de Servifere died 
at Lyons, October, 1689, aged ninety-three. 

The machines which M. de Servifere has 
invented for clocks are very curious; and 


2 28 


although the greater part have for their 
principle the elasticity of springs, the heavi- 
ness of weights, or the flowing of water or 
sand, they were, for 
their time, so dif- 
ferent from any that 
existed of this kind, 
and they produced 
such surprising 
effects, that they 
were regarded as 
veritable prodigies 
of art, and, as will 
be seen from the 
following examples, 
not without justice. 
Fig. t represents 
a clock with an 
oblong square dome, 
raised on six col- 
umns upon a base 
of the same shape. 

Around four columns 
forming one side there 
ran double wires of copper 
placed parallel to each 
other in a spiral coil from 
the dome to the base. 
These wires were fixed to 
the columns by little 
brackets, in such a way 
that they formed a cannl 
to a ball of the same metal, 
which, by its own weight, 
descended all their length, 
arriving at the base, where 
it then enters on the thread 
of an archimedean screw- 
placed between the six 
pillars, and which divides 
diagonally the space 
between the dome and 
the base* As soon as 
the screw has received 
the ball it turns, and by 
this means raises the ball 
to the dome, where it 
retakes the road traced by 
the copper wires. In this 
machine the ball is not 
lost to sight ; you perceive 
it mount by the archi- 
medean screw and descend 
by the canal, and by these 
continued movements it 
causes the wheels to re- 
volve. The dials for hour 
and minute are on the 
faces of the base. 
Another clock (Fig. 2} is a desk about 
iSin. long, the back being raised i2in. On 
the inclined plane is cut a canal, which 


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conducts a ball in the same way as the 
former clock to the lower end of the 
plane, where it enters the body of the 
machine. Immediately it enters, a second 
ball appears at the top of the canal, which 
takes the route of the first, and these two 
balls serve for movement to the clock, which 
has its dials on one of the faces of the desk. 
To show that the works of this machine 
occupy but little S[>ace, the plane can be 
raised like a desk -lid, and it will be found 
that part of the interior is empty, and the other 
part is filled with two rows of little drawers 
containing curious works of no connection 
with the clock. 

Ylg. 3 shows, on a 
platform upheld by a 
pillar, two serpents, 
one over the other 
The uppermost is 
raised about 6in. 
above the lower. As 
it is pivoted by the 
middle of the body, 
it can see-saw the 
head and tail When 
its tail is lowered, it 
ejects a ball which 
the lower serpent 
swallows, whereon 
the first, lowering its 
headj the ball enters 
its mouth, and is 
again ejected from 
its tail into the mouth 
of the lower serpent. 

This movement is 
continuous, and 
actuates the clock 
whose dial is placed 
above the capital 
of the column. 

The next machine 
(Fig. 4) consists of 
a cylindrical box, 
which, being posed 
with its curvilinear 
surface on an in- 
clined plane, seems 
to rest there, against 
the nature of round 
bodies, which at 
once descend any 
incline. The box in 
question descends 
its plane slowly, and 
in time. It is made 
of copper, is about 
5 in. diameter, and 
the plane on which it is placed is 4ft. 
long. The hours are inscribed on the thick- 
ness of this inclined plane and on the cir- 
cumference of the box, which has a hand 
with two points, which is always vertical 
and marks the hour on two different 
places, with the upper point on the edge of 
the box, and with the lower on the inclined 
plane. This clock has no spring or balance. 
The duration of time it works depends on 
the length of its inclined plane, and it only 
receives its movement from the effort the 
round body makes to keep on the plane 
against its natural course. A variation of 

by L^OOgle 

Jjrigmal tram 



FHi. 5. 

this has added to the lower end of 
the plane several other such planes, 
which rise as soon as the cylindrical 
box arrives on them, and incline to 
the same degree as the former. By 
this means, multiplying this kind of 
inclined plane along the wall of a 
large room or a gallery, one would 
have a dock which would go for 
several months without being touched. 

Fig. 5 is made on the same principle 
as the one preceding, excepting that 
its inclined plane is disposed spirally 
around six pillars forming a kind of 
rotunda. This clock will go for a 
week, and would jjo longer were its 
plane extended. To reset these last 
two clocks it is only necessary to re- 
place them at the beginning of the 
first plane, taking care that they mark 
the correct hour. 

Fig, 6 marks the hours by means of 
a sand-glass. The sand Lakes exactly 
an hour to fall ; the cage has an axle 
which causes it to turn like a clock 
hand, on the front of a case like those 
of our ordinary clocks. The bulbs 

which can rise and fall a little by 
means of a thin piece of leather folded 
underneath. When the sand has all 
fallen into the lower bulb, the double 
bottom (on which the sand rests) falls, 
and as it then presses on a base con- 
nected with a counterpoise inside the 
case, less weighty than the whole of 
the sand, this base swings upward the 
moment the last grains of sand fall, 
and loosening a catch at the same 
time, the springs inside the case turn 
the hour-glass. Thus the empty bulb, 
which was at the top, is now at the 
bottom, and the full half is above ; 
in this way the running of the sand is 
recommenced, and continues without 
interruption. Every time the glass 
reverses, it turns a dial hidden inside 
the case a twelfth of a circle, and the 
twelve hours, one after the other, ap- 
pear at a little opening over the hour- 

The next machine (Fig, 7) is a 
celestial i^lobe on the circumference 
of which the hours are inscribed, 
which turns on the head of an Atlas 
who bears it, to mark the time at a 

have each a false moving bottoi 

Diqili. IjDC 





fixed pointer. The works 
of this clock are concealed 
in the interior of the globe, 
and cause it to turn in such 
manner that it is not the 
hand which comes to the 
hours, but the hours them- 
selves which come success- 
ively to seek the hand. 

Figs- 8 and 9 show two 
clocks of which the hours 
are inscribed along a cor- 
nice and down the length 
of a pillar, A little figure 
of a mouse marks the hours 
by running along the cor- 
nice, whilst a lizard per- 
forms the same office, and 
may be perceived at the 
right hand of the illustra- 
tion marking half-past one 
o'clock, by mounting the 
These clocks are 
by a counter- 




Fig, 10 has the movement 

of an ordinary clock of the time, but has a different 
dial It has no hands, but in their place has two 
unequal circles, of which the larger marks the hours 
and the smaller the quarters. These circles are 
hidden inside the machine, and only show the 
current hour through two openings in the face. 

The last specimen of M. de Service's ingenuity 
we describe {Kig. 1 1) is what must have been, for his 
time, a great puzzle. A pewter plate, on the rim of 
which are engraved the hours, is filled with water ; a 
little figure of a tortoise in cork being thrown in im- 
mediately seeks the correct hour and points it out 
with its head. If one move it away it returns at 
once, and if left alone follows slowly the border of 
the plate, marking the time. This movement is, of 
course, effected by a moving magnet, and a small 
rod of metal in the tortoise's head, but no sign is 
visible of any mechanism, which is concealed in the 
false bottom of the plate. 

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SCLK-L^sCitireD OWL was deaf to all dissuasion), west 




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2 35 



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Original from 




A Story for Children, 

By Isahkl 

HKRE were the four Kings: 
the King of the North, the 
region of perpetual snow ; the 
King of the South, where 
the sun shines all the year 
round ; the King of the East, 
from whence the cold winds blow ; and the 
King of the West, where the gentle zephyrs 
breathe upon the flowers and coax them to 
open their petals while the rest of the world 
is Still sleeping. 

And there was the great Dragon, who lived 
on top of a high mountain in the centre of 
the universe. He could see everything that 
happened everywhere by means of his magic 
spectacles, which enabled him to look all 
ways at once, and to see through solid sub- 
stances ; but he could only see, not hear, 
for he was as deaf as a post. 

Now the King of the North had a beauti- 
ful daughter called Crystal Her eyes were 
bright like the stars ; her hair was black like 

the sky at night ; and 

skin was as white as 

snow which covered 

ground outside the palace 

where she lived, which was built entirely of 

crystals clear as the clearest glass. 

And the King of the South had a son 
who had been named Sunshine on account 
of his brightness and warmth of heart. 

The King of the East had a son who, 
because he was always up early and was very 
industrious, had been given the name of 

The King of the West also had a son, 
perhaps the handsomest of the three, and 
always magnificently dressed ; but as it 
took him all day to make his toilette, so that 
he was never seen before evening, he received 
the name of Sunset. 

All three Princes were in love with the 
Princess Crj^Qi&^lflfiti^ing to win her for 
his btti^ERm^CiP^K^^Nthe chance 



they would go and peep at her as she 
wandered up and down in her glass palace. 
But she liked Prince Sunshine best, because 
he stayed longer than the others, and was 
always such excellent company. Prince 
Sunrise was too busy to be able to spare her 
more than half an hour or so ; and Prince 
Sunset never came until she was getting 
too tired and sleepy to care to see him. 

It was of no use, however, for her to hope 
that Sunshine would be her husband just 
because she happened to prefer him to the 
others. Her father — the stern, blusterous 
old King, with a beard made of icicles so 
long that it reached to his waist and kept his 
heart cold — declared that he had no patience 
for such nonsense as likes and dislikes ; and 
one day he announced, far and wide, in a 
voice that was heard by the other three 
Kings, and which made the earth shake so 
that the great green Dragon immediately 
looked through his spectacles to see what was 
happening: — 

14 He who would win my daughter must 
first bring me the casket containing the 
Hidden Treasure, which is concealed no man 
knows where ! " 

Of course the Dragon was none the wiser 
for looking through his spectacles, because 
the words — loud though they were — could 
not be heard by his deaf ears. 

But the other Kings listened diligently ; as 
did the young Princes. And poor Princess 
Crystal trembled in her beautiful palace lest 
Sunrise, who was always up so early, should 
find the treasure before Sunshine had a 
chance : she was not much afraid of the 
indolent Sunset, except that it might occur to 
him to look in some spot forgotten by his 

Very early indeed on the following morn- 
ing did Prince Sunrise set to work ; he glided 
along the surface of the earth, keeping close 
to the ground in his anxiety not to miss a 
single square inch. He knew he was not 
first in the field ; for the Northern King's 
proclamation had been made towards evening 
on the previous day, and Prince Sunset had 
Ijestirred himself for once, and had lingered 
about rather later than usual, being desirous 
of finding the treasure and winning the 
charming Princess. 

But the early morning was passing, and 
very soon the cheery, indefatigable Sunshine 
had possession of the entire land, and 
flooded Crystal's palace with a look from his 
loving eyes which bade her not despair. 

Then he talked to the trees and the green 
fields and the flowers, begging them to give 

up the secret in return for the warmth and 
gladness he shed so freely on them. But 
they were silent, except that the trees sighed 
their sorrow at not being able to help him, 
and the long grasses rustled a whispered 
regret, and the flowers bowed their heads 
in grief. 

Not discouraged, however, Prince Sunshine 
went to the brooks and rivers, and asked 
their assistance. But they, too, were helpless. 
The brooks gurgled out great tears of woe, 
which rushed down to the rivers, and so 
overcame them — sorry as they were on 
account of their own inability to help — that 
they nearly overflowed their banks, and went 
tumbling into the sea, who, of course, wanted 
to know what was the matter ; but, when 
told, all the sea could do was to thunder a loud 
and continuous " No ! " on alf its beaches. 
So Prince Sunshine had to pass on and seek 
help elsewhere. 

He tried to make the great Dragon under- 
stand: but it could not hear him. Other 
animals could, though, and he went from one 
to another, as cheerful as ever, in spite of 
all the " Noes " he had met with ; until, at 
last, he knew by the twittering of the birds 
that he was going to be successful. 

" We go everywhere and learn most 
things," said the swallows, flying up and 
down in the air, full of excitement and joy 
at being able to reward their beloved Sun- 
shine for all his kindness to them. " And 
we know this much, at any rate : the Hidden 
Treasure can only be found by him who looks 
at its hiding-place through the Dragon's 
magic spectacles." 

Prince Sunshine exclaimed that he would 
go at once and borrow these wonderful 
spectacles ; but a solemn-looking old owl 
spoke up : — 

" Be not in such a hurry, most noble 
Prince ! The Dragon will slay anyone — even 
so exalted a personage as yourself — who 
attempts to remove those spectacles while he 
is awake ; and, as is well known, he never 
allows himself to sleep, for fear of losing 
some important sight." 

"Then what is to be done?" asked the 
Prince, beginning to grow impatient at last, 
for the afternoon was now well advanced, and 
Prince Sunset would soon be on the war- 
path again. 

A majestic eagle came swooping down 
from the clouds. 

u There is only one thing in all the world," 
said he, " which can send the Dragon to 
sleep, and that is 1 caress from the hand of 

the Princess CryulaLOF MICHIGAN 



Sunshine waited to hear no more. Smiling 
his thanks, he hastened away to put his dear 
Crystal's love to the test. She had never yet 
ventured outside the covered gardens of her 
palace. Wpuld she go 
with him now, and ap- 
proach the great Dragon, 
and soothe its savage 
watchfulness into the 
necessary repose ? 

As he made the request, 
there stole into the 
Princess's cheeks the first 
faint tinge of colour that 
had ever been seen there. 

44 My robe is of snow," 
she faltered ; "if I go 
outside these crystal 
walls into your radiant 
presence it will surely 

44 You look as if you 
yourself would melt at my 
first caress, you beautiful, 
living snowflake," replied 
the Prince ; 44 but have 
no fear ; see, I have my 
own mantle ready to 
enfold you. Come Princess, 
and trust yourself to me." 

Then, for the first time 
in her life, Princess Crystal 
stole out of her palace, 
and was immediately 
wrapped in Prince Sun- 
shine's warm mantle, which 
caused her to glow all 
over ; her face grew quite 
rosy, and she 
looked more 
than usually 
lovely, so that 
the Prince 
longed to kiss 
her ; but sbe 
was not won 
yet, and she 
might have 
been offended 
at his taking 
such a liberty. 

he had to be 
content to 
have her beside 
him in his 

golden chariot with the fiery horses, which 
flew through space so quickly that they 
soon stood on the high mountain, where 


the Dragon sat watching them through his 
spectacles, wondering what the Princess was 
doing so far from home, and what her father 
would think if he discovered her absence. 

It was no use 
explaining matters 
to the Dragon, 
even had they 
wished to do so ; 
but of course 
nothing was 
further from their 

Holding Prince 
Sunshine's hand 
to give her cour- 
age, the Princess 
approached the 
huge beast and 
timidly laid her 
fingers on his 

44 This is very 
nice and sooth- 
ing," thought the 
Dragon, licking 
his lips ; 44 very 
kind of her to 
come, I'm sure ; 
but — dear me ! — 
this won't do ! 
I'm actually — 
going — to — 

Ho tried to 
rise, but the 
gentle hand pre- 
vented that. A 
sensation of 
drowsiness stole 
through all his 
veins, which 
would have been 
delightful but for 
his determination 
never to sleep. 
As it was, he 
opened his mouth 
to give a hiss that 
would surely have 
frightened the 
poor Princess out 
of her wits; but 
he fell asleep 
before he could 
so much as begin 
it; his mouth remained wide open; but his 
eyes closed, and his great head began to nod 
in a vttW. fw 




Directly they were satisfied that he really 
slept, Prince Sunshine helped himself to the 
Dragon's spectacles, requesting the Princess 
not to remove her hand, lest the slumber 
should not List long enough for their purpose. 

Then he put on the spectacles, and Prin- 
cess Crystal exclaimed with fear and horror 
when — as though in result of his doing so— 

y / T**-^i!utj 


she saw her beloved Prince plunge his right 
hand into the Dragon's mouth. 

Prince Sunshine had stood facing the huge 
bea^t as he transferred the spectacles to his 
own nose, and, naturally enough, the first 
thing he saw through them was the interior 
of the Dragon's mouth, with the tongue 
rauud and shot forward in readiness for the 

hiss which sleep had intercepted ; and under 
the tongue was the golden casket containing 
the Hidden Treasure ! 

The spectacles enabled the Prince to see 
through the cover ; so he learned the secret 
at once, and knew why the King of the 
North was so anxious to possess himself of 
it, the great treasure being a pair of spectacles 
exactly like those hitherto always worn by 
the Dragon, and by him alone — which would 
keep the King informed of all that was going 

on in every corner 
of his kingdom, so 
that he could always 
punish or reward 
the right people 
and never make 
mistakes ; also he 
could learn a great 
deal of his neigh- 
bours' affairs, which 
is pleasant, even to 
a King, 

The Princess was 
overjoyed when she 
knew the casket was 
already found ; she very 
nearly removed her hand 
in her eagerness to inspect 
it : but, fortunately, she 
remembered just in time, 
and kept quite still until 
Prince Sunshine had 
drawn his chariot so close 
that they could both get 
into it without moving 
out of reach of the 
Dragon's head. 

Then, placing the spec- 
tacles^ not ill their accus- 
tomed place, but on the 
ground just beneath, and 
laying the golden casket 
on the Princess's lap, the 
Prince said, as he gathered up the reins : — 

"Now, ray dearly beloved Crystal— really 
mine at last —take away your hand, and let 
us fly, without an instant's delay, to the Court 
of the King T your royal lather" 

It is well they had prepared for immediate 
departure. Directly the Princess's hand was 
raised from the Dragon's head his senses 
returned to him, and, finding his mouth 
open ready for hissing, he hissed with all 
his angry might, and looked about for his 
spectacles that he might pursue and slay 
those who had robbed him ; for, of course, 
he missed the casket at once. 

But MlYffiSiirePfflCffK]^ mountain 



and unable to leave it, though he flapped his 
great wings in terrible wrath when he saw the 
Prince and Princess, instead of driving down 
the miles and miles of mountain side as he 
had hoped, being carried by the fiery horses 
right through the air, where he could not 
reach them. 

all night, so that Prince Sunrise was able to 
offer his good wishes when he came early in 
the morning, flushed with the haste he had 
made to assure Prince Sunshine that he 
bore him no ill-will for having carried off 
the prize. 

Princess Crystal never returned to her 
palace, except to peep at it occasionally. 


They only laughed when they heard the 
hiss and the noise made by the useless flap- 
ping of wings. Prince Sunshine urged on 
his willing steeds, and they arrived at the 
Court just as the King, Crystals father, was 
going to dinner ; and he was so delighted at 
having the treasure he had so long coveted, 
that he ordered the marriage to take place at 

Prince Sunset called just in time to be best 
man, looking exceedingly gorgeous and hand- 
some, though very disappointed to have lost 
the Princess ; and the festivities were kept up 

She liked going everywhere with her husband, 
who, she found, lived by no means an idle 
life, but went about doing good — grumbled 
at sometimes, of course, for some people will 
grumble even at their best friend — but more 
generally loved and blessed by all who knew 

by Google 

Original from 

Pf\noli i Original from 



[See page 25c.) 

by Google 

Original from 

Ulrich the Guide. 

(From the French of Guy be Maupassant, by At vs Halurd.) 

IMILAR to all the other little 
wood-built inns scattered here 
and there in the Hautes-Alpes, 
just below the glaciers in those 
bare, rocky pathways ot the 
snow-capped mountain peaks, 

the Schwarenbach inn serves as a refuge for 

travellers through the Gemmi Pass, 

During six months of the year it is in- 
habited by its owner, Jean Hauser, and his 

family, but as soon 

as the snow T begins 

to get deep in the 

valley, so that the 

road to Loeche is 

only just practic- 
able, the father and 

mother with their 

daughter and three 

sons leave their 

little mountain 

home in charge of 

the two guides, an 

old man named 

( iaspard Hari, and 

young U 1 r t c h 

Kunsi, and Sam, 

the huge mountain 


The two men 

with their faithful 

keeper remain until 

the following spring 

in their snowy 

prison, having no 

other view than the 

immense white 

slope of the Balm- 
horn, surrounded by 

pale, glittering 

mountain peaks, 

until they are finally 

shut up, blocked, as 

it were, buried 

under the snow, 

which heaps itself 

up around them, 

and then presses 

close round the 

little house, bars the 

door, reaches the 

windows, and, in 

fact, wraps the inn 

round completely in 

its white mantle, 

and then falls thickly 

on the roof. 

On the day when Hauser and his family 
set out on their journey back to Loeche, the 
winter had set in, and the descent was not 
without danger. The three sons went on 
first with the mules laden with luggage ; then 
came Jeanne Hauser and the daughter, 
Louise, mounted on another mule, 

The two guides walked behind with the 
father, for they were going to escort the little 
family to the beginning of the descent. 

They passed by the 
frozen lake which 
is between the great 
rocks near the inn, 
and then they con- 
tinued along the 
va 1 1 ey , w h i c h looke< 1 
like an immense 
white sheet, on each 
side of which rose 
the snowy peaks. A 
flood of sunshine 
fell on the white, 
shining, frozen 
desert, lighting it 
up with a cold, 
blinding flame. 
There was no sign 
of life in this ocean 
of mountains^ no 
movement in this 
vast, measureless 
solitude, not a 
sound broke the 
profound silence. 

(Gradually the 
young guide Ulrich 
Kunsi, a tall, 
strong - looking 
Swiss with long 
legs, got ahead of 
Hauser and old 
Gaspard Hari, and 
overtook the mule 
on which the two 
women were riding. 
The younger of 
them watched him 
advancing, and a 
happy light shone 
in her eyes. She 
was a pretty young 
girl, but her fair 
hair and her pale 
cheeks looked as 
though they had 
NQfii'g lost their colour 




through these long sojourns in the moun- 
tains surrounded by ice and snow. When 
Ulrich had overtaken them he slackened 
his pace and walked alongside of them, his 
hand resting on the crupper. 

The Mfere Hauser began at once to go 
over again all the details she had given him 
about the precautions necessary for the long 
winter season in the little inn. It was his first 
winter up there, whilst old Gaspard had for 
the last fourteen years spent his winter months 
under the snow in the Schwarenbach inn. 

Ulrich Kunsi listened, but his eyes were 
fixed on the young girl, and he did not take 
in the sense of the words which fell on his 
ears. Every now and then he nodded his 
head and answered, " Yes, Madame Hauser," 
but his thoughts were far away, though his 
tranquil-looking face remained impassable. 
They arrived at the Daube Lake, the long 
surface of which, all frozen as it was, stretched 
out smooth and flat as far as the end of the 

On the right the dark rocks of the Dauben- 
horn rose up perpendicularly by the enormous 
moraines of the Lammeren glacier upon 
which the Wildstrubel looked. 

As they approached the Gemmi Pass, 
which is the beginning of the descent to 
Loeche, they suddenly came in sight of the 
immense horizon of the Valais Alps, from 
which they were separated by the deep, 
wide valley of the Rhone. It looked, in the 
distance, like a whole world of white, irregular 
mountain-tops, some flat and some pointed, 
and all glittering in the sunshine. There was 
the Mischabel, with its two horns ; the huge 
mass of the Weisshorn ; the heavy-looking 
Bruneckhorn ; the high, formidable pyramid 
of the Matterhorn, the man-slayer ; and that 
monstrous coquette, the Dent Blanche. 
Then, down below them in a hole at the 
bottom of a frightful abyss, they could see 
Loeche, the houses of which looked like so 
many grains of sand thrown down into that 
enormous crevice which the Gemmi Pass 
closes, and which begins over on the other 
side on the Rhone. The mule stopped at 
the beginning of the path which goes wind- 
ing along, turning back and going on again, 
fantastic and marvellous the whole length 
of the mountain on the right until it 
reaches the almost invisible village at its foot. 

The two women dismounted on to the 
snowy ground and waited until Hauser and 
Gaspard came up with them. 

" Well, good-bye," said Hauser, shaking 
hands with the two guides, " and keep up 
your couraee till we meet next year." 

" Yes, good-bye till next year," said old 

The Mfere Hauser then shook hands with 
the guides, and then it was Louise's turn. 
Ulrich Kunsi whispered, as he held her hand 
in his : " Don't forget us up there under the 
snow," and she answered, " No " ; but so 
qu : etly that he guessed what she said rather 
than heard it. 

" Good-bye again, then," said Jean Hauser, 
" and take care of yourselves up there, you 
know," and shaking hands once more with 
the guides, he stepped on in front of his wife 
and daughter to lead the way down to the 
village. In a short time they were out of 
sight, hidden by the turn of the winding path. 

The two men then retraced their steps and 
walked slowly back in the direction of the 
Schwarenbach inn. They went along, side 
by side, without speaking. They would be 
alone now — face to face with each other for 
the next four or five months. 

Presently, Gaspard Hari began to tell 
about his life the previous winter. He had 
had with him Michael Canol, who was now 
too old to venture it again, as, of course, there 
is no knowing what may happen during those 
long months of solitude. It had not been 
so monotonous after all, for the chief thing 
is just to make up one's mind to it from the 
very first day, and then, too, they had found 
all kinds of things to do, and had played 
at various indoor games when they wanted a 

Ulrich Kunsi listened mechanically to the 
old man's words, but his thoughts were with 
the little family on their way down to the 
village along the winding path of the Gemmi 
Pass. Soon the two men caught sight of the 
littlfc inn, which was only just visible like a 
tiny black speck at the foot of the monstrous 
wave of snow. When at last they arrived at 
their destination and opened the door, the 
large dog with his curly hair began to jump 
up and frolic round them. 

"Now, then, my lad," said old Gaspard, 
11 we've got no woman here now to cook our 
dinner; you set to work and peel the 
potatoes, and we'll soon have something 
ready between us." 

The following morning the time seemed to 
go very slowly; at least, so thought Ulrich 
Kunsi. Old Gaspard sat by the fire smoking 
his pipe, whilst the young man gazed out of 
the window at the dazzling white mountain 
opposite the house. 

In the afternoon he went out for a walk 
and amused himself with following the tracks 
of the mulej|<i>qii#ii:h the two women had 




ridden the day before. When he reached 
the Gemmi Pass he lay down on the ground 
at the edge of the abyss, and looked down 
at Loeche. 

The village in its rocky well was not yet 
hidden by the snow, which, however, had 
nearly reached it, but was stopped by the 
pine forests which sheltered the environs. Its 
low houses, as seen from that height, looked 
like so many stones in a meadow, Louise 
Hauser was down there now in one of those 
grey houses. In which one, though ? Ulrich 
Kunsi could not tell, as he was too far 
away to be able to distinguish them sepa- 
rately. How he did wish he could go down 
to the village, now, before it was too late. 

The sun had by this time disappeared 
behind the high crest of Wildstrubel, and the 
young man wended his way once more back 
to the inn* Gaspard was still smoking, but 
on seeing his companion he proposed a 
game of cards. They sat down to the 
little table facing each other and played 
for a long time, and then had their 
supper and went to bed. 


cloud, thick but light, of white foam was 
falling on them and all round them noise- 
lessly, and was burying them gradually under 
a heavy 3 mossy mattress. This continued 
for four days and four nights, and the two 
men had, to keep the door and windows 
clear, to hollow out a passage and cut some 
steps in order to get up on to this icy powder 
which, after twelve hours' frost, was harder 
than the granite of the moraines, They had 
to live now almost like prisoners, scarcely 
venturing outside of their dwelling, and each 
of them accomplished regularly the every- 
day household tasks which he had from the 
first undertaken. Ulrich Kunsi did all the 
cleaning and the washing, and he also cut 
and carried the wood, whilst Gaspard's share 
of the work was the cooking and seeing to 
the fire. 

Their regular, monotonous 
tasks were relieved by their 
Raines at cards 
and dominoes, 
and both of them 
being very quiet 
and placid, they 
never quarrelled 
by any chance. 
There were never 
any impatient 
or sharp words, 
and they were 
never even 
for they had 
both taken in 
a good stock of 
resignation in 
order to be able 
to endure this 
winter sojourn 
on the top of 
the mountain. 
Sometimes old 
Gaspard would 
take his gun 

The next few days were just like that first 
one — clear and cold, but no fresh snow. Old 
Gaspard would spend his afternoons looking 
out for the eagles and the rare birds which 
ventured on these icy summits, whilst Ulrich 
took his favourite walk down to the (Jem mi 
Pass in order to have a glimpse of the village, 
and then on his return they would play at 
cards or dominoes, and stake some trifling 
object in order to add to the interest- 
One morning Gaspard, who was up first, 
called out to his companion* A moving 





of these 
The thermometer was eighteen 

chamois hunting, and whenever 
luck there was great feasting in 
Schwarenbach inn. 

One morning he set out on one 

degrees below freezing-point, and as the sun 
was not yet up the wily huntsman hoped to 
surprise his prey round about the Wildstrubel. 

Ulrich, finding himself alone, did not get 
up till towards ten o'clock. He was natu- 
rally a good, sleeper, and would often have 
liked to stay in bed m the morning, but was 




ashamed to give way to his laziness when 
( iaspard was there, as the old guide was such 
an early riser and so energetic always. On 
the morning in question Ulrich took his 
breakfast in a leisurely way and gave the dog 
his. Sam, too, spent nearly all his time now, 
night and day, in front of the fire sleeping. 

When the young man got up from the 
table a strange, sad kind of feeling came 
over him, a sort of horror of the solitude, 
and he wished that Gaspard were there to 
have their customary game of cards. He 
missed it, as it had become quite a habit 
now to sit down after breakfast and have 
their game until it was time to prepare for 
the next meal. 

Later on, as he could not settle down to 
anything, he set out to go and meet Gaspard, 
who was to be back home towards four 
o'clock. The snow had levelled the deep 
valley, filled up all the crevices, hidden the 
two lakes entirely from sight, and covered 
the rocks so that there was nothing to be 
seen now between the two immense moun- 
tains but an enormous smooth white basin, 
all dazzling and frozen. 

For the last three weeks Ulrich had not 
been down to the edge of the precipice to 
look at the little village. He wanted to go 
there before climbing the mountain slopes 
which led to Wildstrubel. Loeche was now 
also under the snow, and the houses were 
scarcely visible at all, buried as they were 
under this pale mantle. Turning to the 
right, Ulrich reached the Lammeren glacier. 
He went on with his long, mountaineer strides, 
his iron-tipped staff striking the snow, which 
was as hard as stone, whilst, with his eagle 
glance, he looked round in search of a 
black moving speck in the distance on this 
measureless sheet of snow. 

When he had arrived at the edge of the 
glacier he stopped suddenly, wondering to 
himself whether Gaspard had taken this 
road, and then he walked on along the 
moraines with a quicker step and a feeling 
every minute more and more anxious. It 
began to get dusk, a pink shade came over 
the snow, and a dry, frosty wind blew in 
gusts over its crystal surface. Ulrich called 
out in a shrill voice that vibrated through the 
air and broke the death-like silence in which 
the mountains were wrapped. It could be 
heard for a long distance over the deep, still 
waves of the frozen foam, just like the cry of 
a bird over the waves of the sea, and then it 
died away again and there was no answer. 
Ulrich walked on and on, and the sun was 
sinking gradually lower and lower behind the 

Digitized by V^iOOQ IC 

mountain crests, which were still purple from 
the reflection of the sky ; but the deep valley 
itself was turning a leaden grey. 

Suddenly the young man was seized with a 
strange, nameless fear. It seemed to him as 
though the silence, the cold, the solitude, 
and the winter death of these mountains 
were entering his very soul, and as though 
they would stop his blood and freeze it in 
his veins, as though they would stiffen his 
limbs and make of him a motionless, frozen 
being. This idea took possession of him, 
and he set off running as fast as he could go 
towards their dwelling. " Gaspard must have 
come back by now," he said to himself; the 
old man had doubtless taken another road, 
and he would find him seated before the fire 
with his dead chamois at his feet. 

Presently he came in sight of the inn. 
There was no smoke from the chimney. 
Ulrich hurried on faster and faster, but when 
he opened the door there was only Sam, who 
jumped up to greet him ; Gaspard Hari had 
not yet returned. Terrified at the old man's 
long absence, Ulrich" turned round as though 
he expected to see him hiding in one of the 
corners. He then busied himself with light- 
ing the fire and making the soup, hoping 
{hat by the time the evening meal was ready 
Gaspard would be back. Every few minutes 
he would go to the door and look out to see 
whether he were not in sight. 

It was night now, a pale, wan sort of night 
such as one has on the mountains, a 
livid dusk, lighted up from the edge of the 
horizon by a clear, yellowish crescent, which 
was just ready to fall behind the mountain- 
tops. The young man went back into the 
house, sat down and warmed his hands and 
feet at the fire, while he turned over in his own 
mind all the accidents which were possible. 

Gaspard might have fallen and broken his 
leg, he might have slipped into a hole, or 
stumbled and twisted his foot. If so, he 
would be lying there in the snow, chilled 
through and through, and stiff with the cold ; 
he would be in utter despair, shouting for 
help, calling out with all the strength he had 
left, and his voice would fall on the silent 
air, and there would be no one to answer him. 

Where was he, though ? The mountain 
was so vast, so rugged, and so dangerous 
to explore, especially at this season of the 
year, that ten or twenty guides might search 
in every direction for a whole week before 
finding a man in that immensity. Ulrich 
Kunsi, however, decided that if Gaspard 
Hari were not back by midnight, he would 
set out with Sam to search for him. 




He began to make preparations for his 
expedition. He put enough food to last for 
two days in a knapsack, took his steel 
crampons^ and fastened a long, stout cord 
round and round his body, and examined 
his iron-tipped crook and his axe, with which 
he would probably have to cut steps in the 
ice* He then sat down and waited* The 
fire was blazing in the grate and the dog 
snoring away on the hearth, whilst the clock 
was beating time regularly within its wooden 
case like the heart of a human being. 
Ulrich sat there waiting, listening intently for 
any sound in the distance, shuddering when 
the wind rustled over the roof and against 
the walls, 

The clock struck midnight, and the first 
stroke startled him, Then feeling that he 
was all unnerved, he put some water on the 
fire to boil in order to make himself a cup of 
strong coffee before setting out. When the 
clock struck again he roused Sam and then, 
opening the door, started in the direction of 
Wildstrubel, For over five hours he con- 
tinued his ascent, scaling rocks, cutting foot- 
holds in the ice, advancing slowly, and some- 
times having to haul up the dog after him 
with his cord- 
It was nearly six o'clock when he arrived 
on the top of one of the peaks where he 
knew Gaspard was in the habit of coming to 
hunt the chamois. Ulrich waited now for 
the daylight The sky was getting paler over 
his head, and suddenly a strange light flashed 

Gradually the highest peaks in the distance 
changed to a delicate, fleshy-pink hue r and 
then the red sun appeared behind the heavy 
giant heights of the Bernese Alps, 

Ulrich Kunsi now started on his way once 
more. He walked along like a huntsman, 
with his head bent, looking out for tracks, and 
encouraging the dog every now and then with 
a iE Search, Sam ! Search ! Good dog ! " 

He began to descend the mountain again, 
now gazing down at every precipice, and now 
and again calling out ; but his voice always 
died away in the dumb immensity, and there 
was no answer on any side. Sometimes he 
would kneel down, with his ear on the 
ground to listen, and he would imagine he 
heard a voice, and would set off again 
quickly, calling all the way ; but not another 
sound would he hear, and he would have to 
sit down to rest, exhausted and despairing. 

Towards mid-day he took some refresh- 
ment and fed the dog, who was as worn out 
as his master, and then they started once 
more on their search* When night came on 
they were still going along, although they 
must have walked over thirty miles of 
mountain road. As they were too far from 
the little inn to think of getting back, and 
too tired to be able to continue their way, 
Ulrich hollowed out a hole in the snow and 
crouched down in it, with the dog, under a 
rug that he had brought with him slung over 
his shoulders. 

They lay down together, the young man and 


over the immense ocean of the pale moun- 
tain-tops which stretched for a hundred 
leagues around him* It was as though this 
strange, weird light had risen from the snow 
itself, to fall again into space. 

the dog, trying to warm themselves by huddling 
close together, but frozen to the very marrow 
of their bones, both of them. Ulrich scarcely 
slept at all ; he was haunted by all kinds of 
visions and shfvermg \\\ over in every limb* 




The day was just beginning to dawn when 
he got up. His legs were as stiff as bars of 
iron, and he was so low-spirited that he could 
have cried out in his anguish, whilst his heart 
beat so fast that he felt it would stop alto- 
gether at the slightest sound he might now 

The idea suddenly came to him that he 
too was going to die of cold in this terrible 
solitude, and the very horror of such a death 
roused him to action. He began to descend 
the mountain, this time in the direction of 
the inn. He stumbled and fell several times, 
and the poor dog lagged behind, limping 
along on his three paws. They reached 
Schwarenbach towards four o'clock in the 
afternoon, and found the house empty just as 
they had left it. Ulrich made a fire, and 
after he and the dog had eaten something, he 
was so worn out that he fell asleep, for he 
was absolutely incapable of thinking about 

He slept for a long time — a very long time 
— completely overmastered by invincible 
slumber. Suddenly the sound of a voice, of 
a cry of his own name, " Ulrich ! " roused 
him, and he got up hastily. Had he been 
dreaming ? Was it one of those strange cries 
which one hears in dreams when one's mind 
is ill at ease ? No ; he heard it again, now 
distinctly — that cry which vibrated, and which 
seemed to have entered into his very soul. 

Most certainly someone had called, and it 
was his name he had heard — "Ulrich!" 
Someone was there near to the house, there 
was no doubt about it 

He rushed to the door, opened it, and 
shouted with all his might : — 

" Gaspard, Gaspard, are you there ? " 

There was no answer, not a sound, not a 
murmur, not a moan, nothing. It was dark, 
but the snow could be seen as white as ever. 

The wind had risen, that bitter, icy wind 
which cracks the stones and leaves nothing 
alive on those deserted heights. It swept along 
in sudden gusts, more withering and more 
deadly even than the fiery wind of the desert. 

Ulrich cried out again : " Gaspard ! Gas- 
pard ! Gaspard ! " 

Then he waited again and listened. All 
was dumb on the mountain. And now a 
mortal terror took possession of him, and he 
shook in all his bones. He rushed back 
into the house, closed the door, and fastened 
the bolts, and then sank down on a chair, 
shivering all over from head to foot. 

He was certain, absolutely certain, that his 
comrade had just now called him with his 
dying breath. Of that he was sure, just as 

one is sure that one is alive or that one is 
eating a piece of bread. Gaspard Hari 
must have been slowly dying during two 
days and three nights down in some hole, in 
one of those deep, immaculate - looking 
ravines, the whiteness of which is more 
sinister than the dense gloom of the subter- 
ranean passages. 

He had been dying during those two days 
and three nights, and now a few minutes ago 
he had drawn his last breath as he thought of 
his young comrade, and his soul was no 
sooner free than it had taken its flight towards 
the inn where Ulrich had been sleeping, and 
it had called him by virtue of that mysterious 
and terrible power which the souls of the 
dead have of haunting the living. It had 
cried out, this voiceless soul, to the soul of 
the young man as he slept ; it had uttered 
its last farewell, or its reproach, or perhaps 
its curse, on the man who had not sought 
long enough on the mountain. 

And Ulrich felt as though it was there with 
him, this soul, near him, behind the wall on 
the other side of the door which he had just 
bolted. It was roaming about like a night- 
bird which rustles against the lighted windows 
with its feathers, and the young man almost 
shrieked aloud in his awe and terror. He 
wanted to get up and rush away, but he 
dared not open the door ; he dared not now, 
and he never would dare to from henceforth, 
for the phantom would remain there day and 
night, hovering round the inn, until the old 
man's body had been found and placed in 
consecrated ground in some cemetery. 

It began to get light, and Ulrich felt more 
reassured at the return of the brilliant sun- 
shine. He prepared his meal, fed the dog, 
and then he sat down again in despair and 
torture at the thought of the old man lying 
amongst the snow. 

When once more the darkness began to 
cover the mountain, fresh terrors assailed 
him. He walked about in the dark kitchen, 
lighted only by one flickering candle. He 
walked backwards and forwards from one 
side to the other, taking long strides and 
listening — listening intently to hear whether 
the fearful cry of the previous night came 
across the gloomy stillness of the mountain. 
And he felt himself alone, the wretched man, 
more alone than any human being had ever 
been ! 

He was alone in the midst of this immense 
snowy desert, alone more than six thousand 
feet above any inhabited dwelling, right up 
above the world of human beings— alone in 
this frozen land A m\d kiea took possession 




of him, to get away at all costs — to get away, 
no matter where, no matter how, to rush 
down to Loeche, to throw himself down the 
precipice ! But, alas ! — he did not even dare to 
open the door, so sure was he that the other 
one, the dead man, would bar the road for him, 
in order not to stay up here alone either* 

Towards midnight, tired of pacing up and 
down, overwhelmed with anguish and terror, 
he sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, for 
he dreaded his bed just as one dreads a 
haunted spot* 

Suddenly, once more, the strident cry of 
the night before fell upon his ears, and this 
time so piercing, so shrill, that Ulrieh in- 
stinctively put up his arms to ward off the 
spirit, and in doing so lost his balance and 
fell over. 

Sam, the dog, roused by the noise, began 
to howl, as dogs do when they are terrified, 
and began to walk round the dwelling to 
discover the danger At the door he bent 
his head and sniffed along the 
ground, his ears pricked up and his 
tail straight out 

Ulrieh, wild with terror, had risen 
from the ground and, holding the 
chair in his hand as a weapon, he 
called out, "Stay there! Do not 
come in : I will kill you if you come 
in." And the dog, more and more 
excited by his master's threatening 
tone, barked furiously at the invisible 
enemy who was daring to defy Ulrieh. 

Gradually, however, Sam began to 
calm down, and at last went back to 
his place on the hearth. He did not 
go to sleep again though, but justify 
there looking anxious, his eyes shin- 
ing, and growling every now and 
then. Ulrieh, too, managed to master 
his terror, but feeling unnerved he 
opened the cupboard, and taking out 
a bottle of brandy, he drank several 
glasses one after the other. 

His thoughts began to get con- 
fused, but his courage came back and 
a fever began to burn in his veins. 
The following day he scarcely touched 
any food; but he drank more brandy; 
and for several days he went on like 
this — drinking like some brute. 

Every time the thought of Gaspard 
Hari came to him he would goto the 
brandy-bottle and drink until he fell 
down intoxicated. He would then 
remain there, his limbs feeble, his 
face against the ground, in a kind 
of drunken stupor 

Vol. sL-32 

No sooner, however, had the burning 
liquor lost its effect than the same terrible 
cry, " Ulrieh ! " roused him like some pistol- 
shot through his brain, and he would get up 
and stagger along, calling Sam to help him. 

The poor dog seemed to be losing his 
senses too, like his master, for he would dart 
to the door, scratch with his paws, and gnaw 
at it with his long, white teeth, whilst the 
young man would go back to the brandy and 
drink a draught of it like water, so that it 
might once more deaden his terror and lull 
him to sleep. At the end of three weeks 
the stork of brandy had come to an end, 
and this continual intoxication had only 
calmed at intervals his terror, which now 
became more and more awful 

It had become a monomania with him, 
and his month's intoxication had exaggerated 
it so that now, in the midst of this absolute 
solitude, it increased day by day. 

He paced up and down in his dwelling 






like a wild beast in his cage, putting his ear 
to the keyhole of the door at times to listen 
whether the other were still there and defying 
him in angry tones through the wall. At 
night, no sooner did he begin to doze, worn 
out as he was by fatigue, than the sound of 
the voice would make him spring to his feet. 

At last one night, in sheer desperation, he 
rushed to the door and opened it, so that he 
might see who was calling him and oblige 
him to be silent A gust of icy wind met 
him and seemed to freeze him through and 
through, and he banged the door to and 
bolted it again, without seeing that Sam had 
bounded out. 

Then, shuddering, he threw some wood on 
the fire and sat down to get warm again. 
Presently he heard a scratching noise at the 
wall which made him start, and then there 
was a sound like a human voice wailing. 

" Go away ! " he shrieked, and a long, sad 
moan answered him. 

All the reason which he had left gave way 
now in the face of this new horror. 

He kept repeating his loud cry, " Go 
away," and wandered about looking for some 
corner in which to take refuge. 

The moaning continued, and the other one 
wandered round and round the house outside 
scratching against all the walls. Ulrich 
threw all his weight against the oak side- 
board, full as it was of provisions and of 
china, and with almost superhuman strength 
he managed at length to push it against the 
door as a barricade. Then piling up every- 
thing that remained in the way of furniture, 
to the very mattresses off the beds, he stopped 
up the window just as though the enemy 
were besieging the house. Some terrible, 
dismal groans were now heard from outside, 
and Ulrich answered by groans also. 

Some days and nights passed like this : 
the one outside the house roaming round 
and round it, scratching at the walls and the 
door with such force, that it seemed as though 
the wood-built building would be demolished ; 
and all the time the other one inside the 
house listened to every movement and 
answered the terrible, lingering moans by 
fearful shrieks of terror. 

At last one night there was silence again 
outside the house. Ulrich could hear 
nothing, and, thoroughly exhausted as he was, 
he lay down on the floor and fell asleep. 
When he awoke he had no memory of 
anything : not a thought came to him, it was 
as though his very brain had been emptied 
by that overpowering slumber. He was 
hungry, and he found some food and ate it. 

Digitized by Google 

Winter was over and the Gemmi Pass was 
once more practicable, so the Hauser family 
set out from the village to go back to their 
inn on the mountain. When they reached 
the top of the pass, the two women got on 
to their mules to continue the ascent, and 
they began to talk of the two guides who 
had been shut up on the mountain all the 
winter. As soon as the inn was in sight they 
saw that it was still well covered with snow, 
but there was smoke rising from the chimney, 
and this reassured Jean Hauser. 

As they came nearer, they discovered on 
the very threshold of the inn the skeleton of 
an animal which had been torn to pieces by 
the eagles — a huge skeleton it was, and lying 
on its side. 

They all examined it, and the Mfere Hauser 
exclaimed, " It must be Sam ! " 

" Gaspard ! " called out the father, and he 
was answered by a cry from inside the house, 
but it was a strange, piercing cry, and sounded 
more like the utterance of some animal than 
that of a human being. The P£re Hauser 
called again : " Gaspard ! Halloa ! " and 
another cry like the first one was the only 

The father and sons then tried to open the 
door, but it resisted their efforts. They went 
into the empty stable and fetched a long 
piece of wood, which, with all their strength, 
they managed to push in. The door cracked 
and finally gave way, the wood breaking in 
pieces. Then there was a fearful noise, 
which seemed to shake the house, and there 
inside, behind the sideboard, which had 
turned over on to the floor, they saw a man 
standing up glaring at them — a man with 
long hair falling on to his shoulders and a 
long, wild-looking beard, and his clothes 
hanging in rags on his body. 

The others did not recognise him, but 
Louise Hauser exclaimed, " Oh, mother, it's 
Ulrich ! " and then the Mfere Hauser saw 
that it was indeed Ulrich, although his 
hair was snow-white. He let them come up 
to him ; he let them touch him ; but he did 
not answer any of their questions. 

They took him down to Loeche, and the 
doctors there pronounced him mad. His 
case, however, was not hopeless, though his 
recovery must of necessity be slow. 

No one ever knew what had become 

of his companion, the old guide, Gaspard 

Hari. Louise Hauser nearly died that 

summer. She had a long illness, the cause 

of which was attributed to the cold on the 

mountain, . 

Original from 


The Romance of the Museums. 

By Wiluam G. FjtzGerald. 

N spite of a big army of astro- 
logers, palmists, phrenologists, 
physiognomists, and other 
modern magicians with aristo- 
cratic addresses and high 
tariffs, men have embarked, 
and doubtless will continue to embark, blindly 
on big undertakings, whose only appreciable 
results are vexation and black ingratitude on 
the part of potential beneficiaries. Were it 
possible for the veil of the future to have 
been lifted for Thomas Bruce, seventh Earl 
of Elgin, I doubt very much whether that 
painstaking, much-abused diplomatist would 
ever have ventured upon the acquisition of 
those exquisite, but mutilated, Greek sculp- 
tures which bear his name in the Elgin Room 
at the British Museum. 

Lord Elgin was born on the 20th of July, 
1766, and he attained the rank of major- 
general in our army. His diplomatic career 
began in 1790; and nine years later he was 
appointed to the 
Embassy at the 
Ottoman Porte. 
Just before Lord 
Elgin left England, 
however, his archi- 
tect in Scotland — a 
Mr, Harrison — re- 
minded his lordship 
that he would pre- 
sently be in a posi- 
tion to procure, 
for the benefit of 
British students, 
some casts of the 

far-famed Greek sculptures at Athens. Therj- 
upon Lord Elgin communicated with the 
Government, feeling, however, totally dis- 
inclined to embark upon such a costly and 
hazardous enterprise himself* 

On his voyage to Constantinople, Elgin 
touched at Palermo* where he consulted Sir 
William Hamilton on the subject of procuring 
casts and drawings from the works of the 
Greek architects and sculptors. Sir William 
not only encouraged the idea, but applied 
forthwith to the Government of Naples for 
permission to engage His Majesty's painter, 
Giovanni Battista Lusieri, who in turn 
11 collected " five other eminent artists in 

Digitized by Vj* 

Rome, and with them prepared to accom- 
pany Lord Elgin to Turkey. In the summer 
of 1800 these ssk artists were dispatched to 
Greece, and were f it first chiefly employed in 
making drawings — though, of course, every 
conceivable obstacle was thrown in their way 
by the iconoclastic Turk. After a year's 
hammering at the Porte, the necessary firman 
was granted, permitting scaffolding to be 
fixed round the ruined Parthenon, mouldings 
to be made of ornamental sculptures, and the 
removal of " any pieces of stone with old 
inscriptions thereon*" 

It should be noted here that the actual 
removal of any of the sculptures formed no 
part of Lord Elgin's original plan, which was 
only modified when he saw how the priceless 
marbles were being knocked about by the 
devout " men in possession." At this time 
the wondrous Temple on the Acropolis was 
in a bad way. Could Phidias have seen his 
chef d'truvre when the British Ambassador to 


Turkey commenced operations on it, the 
greatest of Greek sculptors must have wept 
in impotent wrath. As early as 1687 the 
Parthenon was used as a. Turkish powder- 
magazine; and this is how it looked after 
Morosini, the Venetian, had dropped a shell 
into it during the siege of Athens from the 
neighbouring hill named, curiously enough, 
the Musaeum. 

I really must mention two or three things 
in order to convey some notion of the 
appalling task poor Lord Elgin had set 
himself. In 1759, the Ionic temple on the 
Ilyssus was in decent trim ; whereas, when 
our diplomatist arrived on the spot, it was ^ 


25 2 


matter of infinite difficulty even to trace the 
foundations. In truth, the Turks worked 
extremely hard to complete the destruction 
commenced by their whilom enemies, the 
Venetians. Throwing off the traditional 
lethargy of their kind, and heedless of the 
potential thunderbolts of Jove, they climbed 
nimbly up the remaining walls of the Parthe- 
non, and knocked off the heads and limbs of 
sundry gods and goddesses — as the veriest 
Cockney may see for himself in the Elgin 
Room at this day. 

Such sculptures as were quite beyond 
reach were perseveringly shot at, while 
marbles that chanced to be at a more con- 
venient altitude were actually ground up for 
cement (being nice and white) or built into 
the houses of the Turks, On one occasion 
Lord Elgin bought outright the house of one 
of the Turkish janis- 
saries that happened 
to be built imme- 
diately under the 
portico of the Par- 
thenon. T h i s h ou se 
he presently had 
demolished, and in 
the foundations the 
greater part of the 
draped statue 
Victory turned 
also the torso 
Jupiter, a bit of the 
redoubtable Vulcan, 
and several other 
fragments that re- 
vealed the extent of 
the ignominy that 
had been heaped 
upon the gods. 

A fter a t r em e n d ous 
lot of persuasion and 
negotiation, another 
Turkish official was 
dwelling over to the 

of the modern fortifications, where the very 
statues our Ambassador was in search of 
would be found figuring as cement in the 
interstices of the stones. The mighty were 
indeed fallen ; fancy Mars and Minerva as 
mortar ! No wonder that Lord Elgin resolved 
then and there to rescue the remaining 
treasures from a similar fate. 

The marbles of the Parthenon are con- 
sidered by artists and critics to be absolutely 
the finest series of sculpture in the world. 
Before them Canova went into raptures, and 
their exquisite beauty of pose caused Mrs* 
Siddons to melt into tears. Foremost among 
the Elgin Marbles comes the apocryphal 
Theseus, shown in this picture. This far- 
famed figure is the most perfect of all in the 
collection ; which does not say much for the 
others, seeing that the hero is, as Shakespeare 




induced to hand his 
H house-breaker." This 
same house had been built close to where a 
great wall, bearing a magnificent frontispiece 
that depicted a contest between Minerva and 
Neptune, had been blown down by the force 
of the explosion that destroyed the temple. 

The house was pulled to pieces, but much 
to Lord Elgin's mortification, nothing was 
found* The former owner watched the men 
at work and made no sign ; he just smoked 
calmly and, like the renowned Tar-baby, 
11 kept on sayin* nuffiiv." When the work 
was over, however, that aggravating Turk 
blandly stepped in and volunteered to con- 
duct everybody concerned to a certain part 

' Digitized by CiQOglC 

would say, sans nose, sans hands s and sans 
feet. Theseus is half reclined upon a rock 
which is covered with a lion's skin ; wherefore 
did Visconti conclude that this is a Hercules. 
The figure is 5ft. Sin. long, and 4ft. high. 
Anatomically and technically it is perfect — 
barring bullet marks; and for this reason it 
is seldom without its devotee in the form of 
an aspiring art student. 

There must be some unknown value in 
ancient tinrk sculptures as defensive 
material ; at any rate, the subject is worthy 
the attention of our military strategists. 
Look at the Turks. Into the walls of their 
fortifications and magazines they built whole 
columns, groups, and friezes ; and their 




officers seemingly liked nothing better than 
a couple of Venuses as door-posts. 

On the right hand of the Propyls was a 
temple dedicated to un winged Victory, built 
from spoils won in the glorious struggles for 
freedom at Marathon, Salamis, and Platan 
The sculptures on its frieze represented many 
incidents of these memorable battles, hut 
the only fragments that had escaped the 
ravages of the unspeakable Turk formed part 
of the wall of a big powder-magazine that was 
established near the site of the temple. The 
finest block had been carelessly inserted 
wrong way up; but, of course, our indefatigable 
Ambassador rescued the whole — not, however, 
without incredible difficulty. 

Lord Elgin also secured several of the 
metopes from the Parthenon. These repre- 
sent the battles of the Centaurs and Lapithae, 
at the nuptials of Perithous — Anglkt, a 
glorious row at a wedding. The original ran 
all round the entablature of the temple and 
formed ninety two groups. 

The next illustration shown here depicts 
the head of one of the horses attached to the 
chariot of Selenk, 
goddess of Night, 
who discreetly 
disappeared be- 
low the horizon at 
the birth of 
Athene, which 
auspicious event 
took place at 
dawn. This head 
far surpasses any- 
thing of the kind 
ever seen, in the 
truth and spirit of 
its execution* The 
nostrils are dis- 
tended, the mouth 
open, the ears 
erect, and the 
veins swollen — 

one might almost say throbbing ; and the 
high-hred animal seems to neigh with con- 
scious pride. The head is 2ft. Gin. long and 
1 ft. 7>^in. high. 

Never did a man devote himself so ear- 
nestly to the accomplishment of a mission 
as Lord Elgin did to the acquisition of these 
mutilated marbles. The vestibule of the 
Temple of Neptune was — seemingly, like 
every other available square inch of Athens- 
converted into a powd«r-maga7ine ; and there 
was no other access to it than by a little hole 
in the wall between the columns, Through 
this our accredited Ambassador wriggled, 

Digitized by L^OOglC 


almost on his stomach, but — thrice blessed 
is he that expecteth little— he found nothing. 
Notwithstanding this, Lord Elgin commenced 
to ramble round the town, for a strange 
rumour had reached him. He learned 
that the peasants of Athens were in the habit 
of placing in niches over their doors sundry 
fragments of sculpture which they discovered 
when ploughing. By the way, as instancing 
how lively things were in Turkish dominions 
at this time, I may mention that the very 
ploughmen carried a musket over their 
shoulder while at work in the fields. His 
lordship there selected and purchased for 
cash quite a number of curious antique 
votive tables, with sculpture and inscriptions. 
Again, during his peregrinations in the plains 
of Troy, Lord Elgin fortuitously lighted upon 
the famous Boustrophedon inscription, then 
forming the chief attraction (in the shape of 
a seat) at the door of a Greek chapel, and 
resorted to by individuals troubled with ague 
of long standing, It must have been 
efficacious, for afflicted pilgrims rolled on the 
thing until there was next to no inscription. 

It seems that 
every other Am- 
bassador from 
Christendom to 
the Porte had 
been after this 
identical inscrip- 
tion, but, probably 
finding something 
else to occupy 
their time in Pera, 
they were unable 
to go exploring in 

By no means 
the least impor- 
tant item in the 
Elgin collection 
is the group 
known as the 
Three Fates, next showm here. Accord- 
ing to Visconti and Greek mythology, they 
preside over birth as well as death* They 
were the companions of Ilithyia, the goddess 
of Childbirth, and they sang the destiny of 
new-born infants. One wonders if they ever 
sang their own, which — in this particular 
instance, at any rate -was to have their heads 
knocked off by unsympathetic Moslems, 

In the former Elgin Room one of these 
figures was separated from the other two ; 
but its adjustment, and other circumstances, 
indicated that the three originally formed one 
group. Besides, they appear together in the 





drawings of the pediments of the Parthenon, 
executed in 1674, by Jacques Caney, who 
ought to know, seeing that he was on the 
spot before the big explosion took place. 
These figures are spoken of in terms of 
high culogium. The grace of the attitude 
and the disposition of the draperies are 
equally deserving of admiration. The 
necks and wrists exhibit traces of orna- 
ments ; and the separate figure is 4ft. 6in, 
in height The breadth of the group is 
8ft. gin., and the height 3ft 7 in. 

On Elgin's departure from Turkey in i&gj, 
he withdrew all his artists from Athens, 
except Lusieri, whom he directed to remain 
in charge of the excavations. It was not, 
however, until 1806 that the Ambassador 
arrived in England, having been * 4 detained J 
in France after the rupture of the peace of 

In 1803, part of the Elgin collection was 
prepared for embarkation for England, 
tremendous difficulties having to be en- 
countered at every stage of its transit. A 
special ship with a suitably serious name — 
the J/<ftf/#r— was chartered, and Mr. \\\ R, 
Hamilton (afterwards British Minister at 
Naples) was put in charge of the precious cargo. 
Lord Elgin's troubles, however, were very 
far from being over. That ship sank in ten 
fathoms, off Gytherea, now called Cerigo. 
After many weeks of maddening anxiety, 
Mr. Hamilton got together a few Greek divers 
from the distant islands of S} me and Calyinna, 
and these gentry, after ttvo or three yearn 7 
work y actually brought up the unfortunate 
sculptures uninjured from the hold of the 
sunken vessel before it had completely 
broken up. 

This was bad enough, but even worse 

\\ but even wc 

3 yGoCgT< 

followed. On his 
return, Lord Elgin 
was fairly howled 
at on every side, 
It was 4i regretted 
that he had re- 
moved these sculp- 
tures from the spot 
where they had for 
ages remained " ; 
he had stripped the 
temples of Greece 
of their noblest 
ornaments, and 
was, therefore, 
accused of vandal- 
ism and rapacity* 
The very method 
of obtaining the an- 
tiquities was termed dishonest and flagitious, 
The House of Commons was reminded that 
when the firman was delivered to the Vaivode 
of Athens presents of value were admitted to 
have been delivered to that exalted lover of 
bakhshish— a complaint that betrayed grievous 
ignorance of Oriental life. And this after the 
unfortunate nobleman had spent ^62,440 
out of his own pocket for the benefit of an 
ungrateful public. This sum, by the way, 
presently mounted up to ^74,000 when all 
expenses had been paid — maintenance of 
artists, scaffoldings, packing-cases, workmen's 
wages for several years* compensation for 
houses demolished, transport, loss of the 
Mentor, and wages of divers. 

The unkindest cut of all, though, was an 
attempt to minimize and depreciate the 
artistic value and importance of the 
sculptures. Upon this, Lord Elgin deter- 
mined to throw open his collection to public 
view, and this he did by arranging the 
sculptures in a big temporary shed near his 
house in Park Lane. 

In 181 1 Mr. Perceval was disposed to 
recommend that the sum of ^30,000 be 
given for the Elgin Marbles, but this offer 
was declined, and his lordship continued to 
add to his treasures. A year later eighty 
fresh cases of antiquities arrived in London ; 
and in 18 E5 Lord Elgin offered, in a petition 
to the House of Commons, to transfer the 
property to the nation upon such conditions 
as the House might deem advisable, after an 
inquiry upon evidence as to its merits and 
value. Be it noted here that the House had 
in the meantime absolved Lord Klgin from 
all blame, and even magnanimously approved 
his conduct. Two independent valuations 
were made. Mr, Richard Payne assessed 




the valuation of the marbles 
at ^£25,000 ; while Mr, W. 
R. Hamilton priced them 
at ^6o,8oo, In the end 
the very Select Committee 
appointed to sit upon these 
antiquities oracularly de- 
clared that in their opinion 

jCi5i°°° was a fair price* 
The act of Legislature, 
whereby the Elgin Marbles 
were secured to the public, 
was dated July ist, 18 16; 
and it is well worthy of note 
as a significant fact that, in 
view of a further collapse 
of negotiations, the King of 
Bavaria had lodged 
^30,000 with an English 
banking house ; for he, too, 
longed to possess the con- 
tents of the Elgin Room at 
the British Museum. 

In the next illustration 
shown here, we see the 
skeleton of Charles Byrne, 
the famous Irish giant, who 
went by the name of 
O'Brien, and died in 178^ 
at the age of twenty -two, 
O'Brien was 8ft. 41 n. in 
height. He lived in Cock- 
spur Street, Charing Cross, 
and his death is said to 
have been due to excessive 
drinking, to which he was 
always addicted, but more 
particularly since 
the loss of all his 
property, which he 
had guilelessly in- 
vested in a single 
bank - note of 

There is a most 
curious story about 
this skeleton. It 
seems that O'Brien 
had known for a 
long time that 
Hunter, the 
famous surgeon, 
was anxious to 
obtain his body 
after death for 
medical examina- 
tion* Accordingly, 
the giant made a 
bargain with some 



fishermen, whereby his body 
after death was to be taken 
out into the Irish Channel 
and dropped overboard, 
Hunter must have been 
very keen on this particular 
" specimen," for he set 
detectives to work who 
found out about O'Brien's 
gruesome compact The 
great surgeon then promised 
the same fishermen another 
^100 note to fulfil their 
previous instructions, but 
to attach a rope to the 
body, and drag it up again 
after it had been immersed, 
in accordance with the 
giant's wishes. This was 
done, and Hunter himself 
set up the skeleton, which 
may be seen to this day in 
the magnificent, but some- 
what depressing, Museum 
of the Royal College of 
Surgeons in Lincoln's Inn 
Fields, At the side of this 
great skeleton is seen one 
of the giants boots and a 
pair of his slippers. 

Also, in the foregoing 
illustration is seen the 
skeleton of a female child, 
of extraordinary stunted 
growth. This is all that 
remains of Caroline Cra- 
chaint, the Sicilian dwarf. 

by Gnagle 


E lUfllCltl^iil^lDlrft ADMIRERS 




who was exhibited as an Italian Princess in 
London, in 1824, The child did not grow 
after birth, and died at the age of about nine 
years. Signorita Crachamis thimble, ring, 
slippers, and stockings are also preserved, 
together with a cast of the dwarfs face. 

The last picture on the preceding page 
was reproduced from an original caricature 
by Rowlandson, which hangs in the private 
office of Professor Stewart — a gentleman who 
maintains surprising vivacity and geniality 
amid the peculiarly gruesome surroundings 
of the Museum of the Royal College of 
Surgeons. The drawing shows the giant we 
have just alluded to, surrounded by his 
admirers- O'Brien has his hand on the head 
of a stalwart soldier, while another old 
gentleman, standing on a chair, is survey- 
ing the giant's imposing proportions. One 
young lady has wriggled herself into O'Brien's 
boot ; another is comparing her own Trilby- 
like foot with his ; while a third individual is 
surveying the giant's second boot on his own 
very ordinary leg- The caricature is, of 
course, very much exaggerated. 

The next illustration depicts what is known 
as tlie Durham Book, or St Cuthbert's 


Gospels, This manuscript is a folio volume 
written on 258 leaves of thick vellum, and 
containing the four CSospels in the 1*1 tin 
version of St Jerome, to which are prefixed 
as usual th*^ Canons of Eusebius. The 
manuscript was written and illuminated — 
according to a note at the end of the book — 
jn honour of St. Cuthbert by Eadfrith t Bishop 

Digitized by V.1OOS LC 

of Lindisfarne, who succeeded to the see in 
the year 698, and died in 721* His 
successor, /Ethel wald, caused it to be 
splendidly bound and adorned with gold and 
gems. Thus completed, it was preserved in 
the Monastery of Lindisfarne till about the 
year 875, when on account of the renewed 
devastations of the Danes, Bishop Eardulf 
and Abbot Eadrid carried away from the 
monastery the bones of St. Cuthbert and 
other saints, together with the precious 
volume shown in the picture. Now, having 
proposed to go over to Ireland, they set 
sail from the River Derwent, but encoun- 
tered a terrific storm, in which their ship was 
thrown on one side by the violence of the 
waves and St Cuthbert's Gospels carried 
away into the vasty deep, A book of such 
value t however, was not permitted to be 
lost; and it is interesting to note that, in a 
dream, it was shortly afterwards revealed to 
one of the monks that, on their arrival at 
Whitehaven j or Whitern, as it was then called, 
they would find the precious volume at the 
ebb of the tide. To their great joy this 
actually happened, and the Durham Book 
was picked up at a distance of three miles 

from the haven. 
The historian, 
Simeon — good, 
easy man — re- 
cords it as a 
miracle that the 
pages of the 
manuscript were 
not in the slightest 
degree injured by 
the salt water ; 
and although the 
visitor to the 
British Museum 
at this day may 
discern occasional 
stains upon the 
vellum, yet the 
illuminations are 
throughout in the 
most perfect pre- 
servation. Beyond 
this nothing more 
is known of the 
famous book, except that it was preserved at 
Durham at the time of the Reformation, 
when it was despoiled of its cover for the 
sake of the gold and jewels which adorned it, 
and which constituted quite a respectable 
little property* Subsequently the Durham 
Book came into the hands of one Boivyer, 
clerk to the Parliament in the reign of King 




James I., and later 
on it found its way 
into the library of 
Sir Robert Cotton, 
with whose magnifi- 
cent collection it 
was presented to the 
nation in 1753, 

Next is shown a 
bronze Mercury of 
the same period as 
the Jupiter which 
was found in 1792 
at Faramythia, in 
E pirns. One pecu- 
liarity of this figure 
which has never 
been observed in 
any other of Mer- 
cury, or of any deity 
who had the desir- 
able gift of perpetual 
youth, is the mark- 
ing of the veins, 
which are distinct 
and prominent as in 
the figure of Jupiter 
aforesaid. Figures of 
Mercury are among 
the most com- 
mon ; but in none 

is there any indication of veins, 

either in the limbs or body ; and, 

therefore, is this characteristic 

considered proof of the high 

antiquity of the figure. The 

finishing is throughout in a degree 

of perfection unknown in any- 
thing else. listen to the rhapsody 

of the art lover, speaking of this 

identical figure : " Though every 

lock of hair is accurately com- 
posed, it seems movable with 

every breeze ; and though the 

lines of the lips, brows, and eyelids 

are perfectly finished, no magnifier 

could trace any sign of a tool in 

any part of the surface. Every 

muscle appears elastic, and the 

countenance absolutely speaking 

with a beauty and sweetness of 

character positively more than 

human,'' The drapery, too, is 

composed and finished with the 

same happy mixtrre of breadth, 

lightness, sharpness, and delicacy, 

and has been cast with the left 

arm and shoulder, which it covers, 

Vol. *i."33. 

Till-: liKuNZK MKKUUKY. 

in a second piece, fastened to the rest 
with a gold stud, which was drawn out and 
the drapery removed to allow of the figure 
being moulded some years ago in Paris* The 
right arm, too, of which the hand holds a 
purse made of the entire sltin of some small 
animal, has been cast and wrought separately 
and very neatly joined to the body a little 
below the shoulder. 

This exquisite figure was found exactly as 
it is here* represented, on its ancient pedestal 
elegantly enriched with the lotus, inlaid with 
silver and enamel, and with a votive gold 
torque hung loosely round its neck, on the 
19th of February, 1732, at a place called 
Pierre Luisit [a&sit omen /), near Huis, 
Lyons. Two labourers being driven from 
their work by a shower of rain, observed a 
small cave near a cascade, the mouth 
whereof was stopped up by a large stone. 
This they removed with their pickaxes, 
and inside they found this figure, which 
they at once carried to a bourgeois of Huis, 
named Jan in, in whose poss ess ion it remained 
until 1747, when it was purchased of Janin by 
the almoner of the Chapter of Belleville, who 
had the interesting story of its finding re- 
corded in a proch verbal before a notary. The 
figure remained at Belleville in the almoner's 
possession until the year 1788, when he died t 
leaving it to his friend, the Abbe Tersant, at 




Paris. The latter, upon realizing the dangers 
which threatened all the trench clergy in 
1792, sold it for a few francs. 

In the preceding reproduction is shown a 
beautiful little model of a Chinese villa — 
occupants, grounds, and all It formed part 
of a present sent by the Emperor of China for 
Josephine, wife of the first Consul, Buona- 
parte, It never reached its destination, how- 
ever, for the vessel in which the model was 
being conveyed to Europe was captured by one 
of the ubiquitous British ships of war. After 
the treaty of Amiens in 1802 the restitution 
of this interesting present was offered, but 
refused ; and subsequently it passed into 
the museum belonging to the East India 
Company, The thing may now 
be seen in the Indian section of 
the South Kensington Museum. 

In 1873, the Prince of Wales 
presented to the British Museum 
— or, to be quite correct, to the 
department of Greek and Roman 
antiquities — a quadrangular stele 
or pillar of white marble, on the 
four sides of which is inscribed 
a decree of the City of Rhodes, 
recording the raising of a volun- 
tary loan for the defence of the 
city in some great emergency. 
The names of the contributors 
of the loan, and the sums sub- 
scribed by each, are recorded on 
the marble— for all the world 
like the subscription list of a 
Mansion House fund. But fancy 
Rhodes raising a loan ! One 
wonders whether there were any 
troublesome Outlanders to be 
dealt with. And the Rhodesian 
horse, what of that famous fight- 
ing body? But I am digressing. 
The stele" from Rhodes is shown 
in the picture. It seems that 
three transcripts of this same 
decree were ordered to be in- 
scribed on stelce and set up in as 
many public places in the city* 
Experts have for generations fought frantically 
over the inscription, and here is the latest 
result: "From the character of the paleo- 
graphy, this decree may be referred to the 
third century before Christ ; and from internal 
evidence (can they have turned the thing 
inside out?) it is probable that the emergency 
for which the loan was raised was the cele- 
brated siege by Demetrius Polioreetes (305 
— 304 b,c.)," This, of course, leaves us 
strangely calm. Why fight ovej^i^i The 

1 hi- y\v\ 1. 1 ROM RHODES, 

'* emergency for which the hun was raised*' 
was probably one which cometh to every man 
among us* 

This inscription wa:; formerly embedded in 
the pavement of the Church of St. John, in 
Rhodes. After the Turkish conquest this 
church became a mosque, and the vaults 
under it were used as a powder-magazine — 
which will surprise no one who has atten- 
tively read the former part of this article 
dealing with the Elgin Marbles, In 1856 the 
po wd er ex | ) 1 od e d — w hy , depo n en t k n o w e t h 
not — and the church was destroyed, As a 
natural sequence, the stele was broken into 
a number of fragments, but the principal 
part, when found, was fortunately uninjured, 
And the pilgrim who makes his 
way to the Reading Room of 
the British Museum among the 
habitues thereof — a race apart — 
may turn aside on the left into 
the parts filled with antique bits 
of sculpture and things, and may 
examine the stel^ from Rhodes 
at his leisure. But, believe me, 
he will be an impressionable 
man who views the thing with 

The picture reproduced on 
the next page is from a photo- 
graph of that famous Rem- 
brandt etching, " Christ Healing 
the Sick," more popularly known 
as the l4 Hundred Guilder 
Piece," because tradition says 
that an impression was sold for 
that sum— rather less than £8 
of our money — during the 
artist's lifetime. This etching 
is probably the most famous in 
existence ; and of the 1( first 
state'" only eight impressions 
are known to exist. At least 
six of these are in public collec- 
tions, and two are in the Print 
Room of the British Museum. 

An original impression was 
offered for public sale in 
1893, and as it was known to be the 
last that could come into the market, it 
realized the large sum of ^£1*750- In the 
year 1799, the Rev, Clayton Mordaunt 
Crach erode, who died in that year, bequeathed 
his library to the British Museum, including 
a large number of etchings and drawings, 
which comprised Rembrandt etchings of the 
highest quality. The romantic story attached 
to the Li Hundred Guilder " etching com- 
menced with t^eH'e&P'TBoS, At that time 




:•> 1 


il^lMfctf IH# r 

' cy^^iMi^ ,iT ^ ^ 


permission to visit the Print Room of the 
Museum was extremely difficult to obtain, 

Just previous to that year, however, one 
Dighton, a caricaturist, who kept a fruit 
shop at Charing Cross, did obtain such 
permission by an order from no less a 
personage than the Prince of Wales. At this 
time, Mr. Reloe, the assistant librarian, was 
in charge of the Print Room ; and relying on 
the Prince's introduction, he neglected his 
duties by leaving the supposed student 
unattended in the department. Now, the 
latter availed himself of the opportunity to 
steal a large number of fine prints — especially 
the Rembrandt etching. Some of these he 
offered for sale to Messrs. Wood burn, who 
were then the leading dealers in pictures 
and prints, and had their establishment in 
St. Martin's I^ane. Among the etchings 
offered by Dighton was the one reproduced 
here; and having doubts of its origin, 
Mr. Samuel Wood burn immediately took 
it to Great Russell Street, to compare 
it with the original in the Museum. Of 
course, he held that original in his hand, and 
on missing it from its place he presently dis- 
covered the robbery from certain imperfectly 
obliterated marks on the mounting of the 
impression. Woodburn at once communi- 
cated with the trustees, who, as promptly, 

procured a search-warrant and proceeded to 
Digh ton's establishment, where they seized 
all the prints they could find, whether 
belonging to the Museum or not. Dighton 
himself was taken into custody, but, amazing 
as it may seem, it was subsequently 
ascertained that, as there were no marks upon 
the Museum prints sufficient to establish 
their identity, no prosecution could be 
sustained, and Dighton was accordingly 
set at liberty, the prints only being retained 
— another Portland Vase case, in fact. 
These exquisite Rembrandt etchings are 
known to collectors by the imprint of a 
palette and brushes which Dighton had 
coolly stamped upon them to mark them as 
his own, Mr. Reloe, the custodian of the 
Print Room, resigned his appointment in 
consequence of this affair, while Dighton 
himself fell into disgrace and poverty, dying 
miserably some two or three years afterwards. 
The man had certainly hit upon an ingeni- 
ous method of stealing the prints. Beneath 
his arm he brought his own portfolio, filled 
with blank paper, returning each time with a 
priceless lot of etchings. In 1817, Dibdin 
wrote about the incident, referring elegantly 
to the thief as a "bipedal serpent/' and 
denouncing bitterly his release from imprison- 
ment, " to be set loose among other print- 




collectors without a hair of his head being 

An indirect appeal was made to the various 
purchasers of the stolon treasures, and to the 
credit of most of them, be it said, they were 
promptly returned to the Museum. 

The entrance to the Nimroud Gallery of the 
British Museum is flanked by a lion and a 
bull, winged and man-headed. These were 
brought by the well-known explorer, Sir 
Henry Layard, from the north west palace of 
Ashur-nasir-pal, at Nimroud, They formed 
part of Sir Henry Layard's discoveries at 
Nineveh. Having 
traversed Asia Minor 
and Syria, Sir Henry 
felt an irresistible 
desire to penetrate to 
the regions beyond the 
Euphrates ; but when 
he reached Mosel, to 
secure Mohamed 
Pasha's permission to 
make the necessary 
excavations, he met 
with every conceivable 
obstacle. On one occa- 
sion it was found that 
the Cadi was endea- 
vouring to stir up the 
people against the ex- 
plorer on the grounds 
that he was carrying 
away t reasu res — which 
in a sense was true. 
Another rumour was 
bruited abroad that 
Sir Henry was un- 
earthing inscriptions 
which proved beyond 
doubt that the Franks 
had once held the 
country, and yielding 
evidence whereby the 
unbelievers would be 
enabled to resume possession and exterminate 
all de v out Moslems. The lion was given 
five legs in order that, from whatever point 
of view it was regarded, the spectator could 
behold the perfect animal. 

For various reasons, the Arabs who assisted 
Sir Henry Layard in his excavations gave 
peculiar, and at times violent, demonstrations 
of their interest in the work. The moment 
certain pieces of sculpture turned up they 
were promptly beaten and spat upon, while 
others were devoutly kissed. At times, too, 
the fiery fellows dashed into, the trenches 
like madmen with streaming hair, |qrtd 


removed the baskets of earth with surprising 
celerity, shouting at the same time the war- 
cry of their particular tribe. 

In spite of all this display of feverish 
energy, however, these discoveries were 
made under very trying conditions. Sir 
Henry's health was rapidly giving way ; nor is 
this to be wondered at seeing that he had to 
pass many hours in the trenches when the ther- 
mometer registered from nsdeg. to ii5deg. 
in the shade. Hot winds swept over the 
devoted band like furnace blasts during the 
day, and clearly were not conducive to sleep 
at night. Being at this 
time without the neces- 
sary means for remov- 
ing these huge sculp- 
tures in safety. Sir 
Henry Layard was 
advised by the trustees 
of the British Museum 
to leave them where 
they were discovered 
until some favourable 
opportunity presented 
itself for transporting 
them. Naturally, the 
explorer did not like to 
forsake the treasures 
he had recovered, so he 
resolved upon attempt- 
ing the removal and 
embarkation of two of 
the smallest and best 
preserved* Accord- 
ingly, he fixed upon 
this bull and its com- 
panion the lion. Then 
a new difficulty arose, 
because no wood but 
popla r wa s con v e n ie n 1 1 y 
available for the con- 
struction of a cart. A 
carpenter was, there- 
fore, dispatched to the 
neighbouring mountains to fell mulberry trees, 
and in due time a rude conveyance was built 
upon which were enthroned, so to speak, the 
bull and the lion, This cart was then 
dragged down to the river by the Arabs, where 
it remained with its precious cargo until Sir 
Henry had succeeded in persuading a rafts- 
man from Baghdad to construct a raft for 
each piece of sculpture. Eventually this was 
done, the rafts being held together by 600 
dried sheep arid goat skins. Both bull and 
lion were in this way floated down to Baghdad, 


the ?)riWal^f po 

rted direct to 

Rodney Stone. 




jOW that I was in my seven- 
teenth year, and had already 
some need for a razor, I had 
begun to weary of the narrow 
life of the village, and to 
long to see something of the 
great world beyond. And the craving was 
all the stronger because I durst not speak 
openly about it, for the least hint of it 
brought the tears into my mother's eyes. But 
now there was the less reason that I should 
stay at home, since my father was at her side, 
and so my mind was all filled by this 
prospect of my uncle's visit, and of the 
chance that he might set my feet moving at 
last upon the road of life. 

As you may think, it was towards my 
father's profession that my thoughts and 
my hopes turned, for from my child- 
hood I have never seen the heave of 
the sea or tasted the salt upon my lips 
without feeling the blood of five genera- 
tions of seamen thrill within my veins. 
And think of the challenge which was ever 
waving in those days before the eyes of a 
coast-living lad ! I had but to walk up to 
Wolstonbury in the war time to see the sails 
of the French chasse-mar^es and privateers. 
Again and again I have heard the roar of 
the guns coming from far out over the waters. 
Seamen would tell us how they had left 
London and been engaged ere nightfall, or 
sailed out of Portsmouth and been yard-arm 
to yard-arm before they had lost sight of St. 
Helen's light. It was this imminence of 
the danger which warmed our hearts to our 
sailors, and made us talk, round the winter 
fires, of our little Nelson, and Cuddie 
Collingwood, and Johnnie Jarvis, and the 
rest of them, not as being great High 
Admirals with titles and dignities, but as 
good friends whom we loved and honoured 
above all others. What boy was there 
through the length and breadth of Britain 
who did not long to be out with them 
under the red-cross flag ? 

But now that peace had come, and the 
fleets which had swept ihe Channel and the 
Mediterranean were lying dismantled in our 
harbours, there was less to draw one's fancy 

Copyright, 1896, by A. Conan Doyle, 

seawards. It was London now of which I 
thought by day and brooded by night : the 
huge city, the home of the wise and the 
great, from which came this constant stream 
of carriages, and those crowds of dusty 
people who were for ever flashing past our 
window-pane. It was this one side of life 
which first presented itself to me, and so, 
as a boy, I used to picture the City as 
a gigantic stable with a huge huddle of 
coaches, which were for ever streaming 
off* down the country roads. But, then, 
Champion Harrison told me how the fighting- 
men lived there, and my father how the 
heads of the Navy lived there, and my 
mother how her brother and his grand friends 
were there, until at last I was consumed with 
impatience to see this marvellous heart of 
England. This coming of my uncle, then, 
was the breaking of light through the dark- 
ness, though I hardly dared to hope that he 
would take me with him into those high 
circles in which he lived. My mother, how- 
ever, had such confidence either in his good 
nature or in her own powers of persuasion, 
that she already began to makp furtive pre- 
parations for my departure. 

But if the narrowness of the village life 
chafed my easy spirit, it was a torture to the 
keen and ardent mind of Boy Jim. It was 
but a few days after the coming of my uncles 
letter that we walked over the Downs together, 
and I had a peep of the bitterness of his 

" What is there for me to do, Rodney ? " 
he cried. " I forge a shoe, and I fuller it, and 
I clip it, and I caulken it, and I knock six 
holes in it, and there it is finished. Then I 
do it again and again, and blow up the 
bellows and feed the forge, and rasp a hoof 
or two, and there is a day's work done, and 
every day the same as the other. Was it for 
this only, do you think, that I was born into 
the world ? " 

I looked at him, his proud, eagle face, 
and his tall, sinewy figure, and I wondered 
whether in the whole land there was a finer, 
handsomer man. 

" The Army or the Navy is the place for 
you, Jim," said I. 

" That is very well," he cried. " If you go 
into the Navy, as you are likely to do, you 
go as an officer, and it is you who do the 

, in the Uuiited States of America 



ordering. If I go in, it is as one who was 
born to receive orders." 

"An officer gets his orders from those 
above him." 

lk 1 5 ut ;in officer does not have the lash 
hung over his head. I saw a poor fellow at 
the inn here it was some years ago — who 
showed us his back in the tap-room, all cut 
into red diamonds with the boatswain's whip. 
' Who ordered that ? ' I asked. ' The 
captain,' said he. l And what would you 
have had if you had struck him dead ? J said 
I. 'The yard-arm/ he answered, * Then if 
I had been you that's where 1 should have 
been,' said I, and I spoke the truth, I can't 
help it, Rod ! There's something here in 
my heart, something that is as much a part 
of myself as this hand is, which holds me 
to it, f 

M I know that you are as proud as Lucifer," 
said L 

"It was born with me, Roddy, and I can't 


JT It AS flOR 

N WITH ME, fiOj4l£ f©0'*S r l *£ U ' n ' m 

help it Life would be easier if I could. I 
was made lo be my own master, and there's 
only one place where 1 can hope to be so," 
"Where is that, Jim?" 
"In London. Miss Hinton has told me 
of it, until I feel as if I could find my way 
through it from end to end She loves to 
talk of it as well as I do to listen. I have it 
all laid out in my mind, and I can see where 
the playhouses are, and how the river runs, 
and where the King's house is, and the 
Prince's, and the place where the fighting- 
men live. I could make my name known in 

" Never mind how, Rod I could do it, 
and I will do it, too. l Wait I J says my uncle, 
' Wait ^ and it will all come right for you,' 
That is what he always says, and my aunt 
the same. W f hy should I wait ? What am I 
to wait for ? No, Roddy, I'll stay no longer 
eating my heart out in this little village, but 
I'll leave my apron behind me 
and I'll seek my fortune in 
London, and when I come back 
to Friar's Oak, it will be in such 
style as that gentleman yonder." 

He pointed as he spoke, and 
there was a high crimson curricle 
coming down the London road, 
with two bay mares harnessed 
tandem fashion before it. The 
reins and fittings w r ere of a light 
fawn colour, and the gentleman 
had a driving-coat to match, with 
a servant in dark livery behind, 
They flashed past us in a rolling 
cloud of dust, and I had just a 
glimpse of the pale, handsome face 
of the master and of the dark, 
shrivelled features of the man. 
I should never have given them 
another thought had it not chanced 
that when the village came into 
view there was the curricle again, 
standing at the door of the inn, 
and the grooms busy taking out 
the horses. 

(< Jim," I cried;. " I believe it is 
my uncle ! " and taking to my 
heels I ran for home at the top 
of my speed. At the door was 
standing the dark- faced servant, 
He carried a cushion upon which 
lay a small and fluffy lapdog. 

" You will excuse me, young 
sir," said he, in the suavest, most 
soothing .qf voices, " but am I 
right in supposing that this is the 




house of Lieutenant Stone? In that case 
you will, perhaps, do me the favour to hand 
to Mrs. Stone this note which her brother, 
Sir Charles Tregellis, has just committed to 
my care." 

I was quite abashed by the man's flowery 
way of talking, so unlike anything which I 
had ever heard. He had a wizened face and 
sharp little, dark eyes, which took in me and 
the house and my mother's startled face at 
the window all in the instant. My parents 
were together, the two of them, in the sitting- 
room, and my mother read the note to us. 

" My dear Mary," it ran, u I have stopped 
at the inn, because I am somewhat ravage 
by the dust of your Sussex roads. A laven- 
der water bath may restore me to a condition 
in which I may fitly pay my compliments to 
a lady. Meantime, I send you Fidelio as a 
hostage. Pray give him a half-pint of warmish 
milk with six drops of pure brandy in it. A 
better or more faithful creature never lived. 
Toujours a toL — Charles." 

" Have him in ! Have him in ! " cried my 
father heartily, running to the door. " Come 
in, Mr. Fidelio. Every man to his own taste, 
and six drops to the half-pint seems a sinful 
watering of grog — but if you like it so, you 
shall have it." 

A smile flickered over the dark face of the 
servant, but his features re-set themselves 
instantly into their usual mask of respectful 

" You are labouring under a slight error, 
sir, if you will permit me to say so. My 
name is Ambrose, and I have the honour to 
be the valet of Sir Charles Tregellis. This 
is Fidelio upon the cushion." 

" Tut, the dog ! " cried my father, in 
disgust. " Heave him down by the fireside. 
Why should he have brandy, when many a 
Christian has to go without ? " 

" Hush, Anson," said my mother, taking 
the cushion. u You will tell Sir Charles that 
his wishes will be carried cut, and that we 
shall expect him at his own convenience." 

The man went off noiselessly and swiftly, 
but was back in a few minutes with a flat 
brown basket. 

" It is the refection, madam," said he. 
" Will you permit me to lay the table ? Sir 
Charles is accustomed to partake of certain 
dishes and to drink certain wines, so that we 
usually bring them with us when we visit." 
He opened the basket, and in a minute he 
had the table all shining with silver and glass 
and studded with dainty dishes. So quick and 
neat and silent was he in all that he did, that 
my father was as taken with him as I was. 

" You'd have made a right good foretop- 
man if your heart is as stout as your fingers 
are quick," said he. " Did you never wish 
to have the honour of serving your country ?" 

44 It is my honour, sir, to serve Sir Charles 
Tregellis, and I desire no other master," he 
answered. " But I will convey his dressing- 
case from the inn, and then all will be ready." 

He came back with a great, silver-mounted 
box under his arm, and close at his heels 
was the gentleman whose coming had made 
such a disturbance. 

My first impression of my uncle as he 
entered the room was that one of his eyes was 
swollen to the size of an apple. It caught 
the breath from my lips, that monstrous, 
glistening eye. But the next instant 1 
perceived that he held a round glass in front 
of it which magnified it in this fashion. He 
looked at us each in turn, and then he bowed 
very gracefully to my mother and kissed her 
upon either cheek. 

" You will permit me to compliment you, 
my dear Mary," said he, in a voice which 
was the most mellow and beautiful that 
I have ever heard. 44 1 can assure you that 
the country air has used you wondrous well, 
and that I should be proud to see my pretty 
sister in the Mall. I am your servant, sir," 
he continued, holding out his hand to my 
father. " It was but last week that I had the 
honour of dining with my friend, Lord St. 
Vincent, and I took occasion to mention you 
to him. I may tell you that your name is 
not forgotten at the Admiralty, sir, and I 
hope that I may see you soon walking the 
poop of a 74-gun ship of your own. So 
this is my nephew, is it ? " He put a hand 
upon each of my shoulders in a very friendly 
way and locked me up and down. 

44 How old are you, nephew?" he asked. 

44 Seventeen, sir." 

44 You look older. You look eighteen, at 
the least. I find him very passable, Mary, 
very passable, indeed. He has not the &7air, 
the tournure — in our uncouth English we 
have no word for it. But he is as healthy as 
a May-hedge in bloom." 

So within a minute of his entering our door 
he had got himself upon terms with all of us, 
and with so easy and graceful a manner that 
it seemed as if he had known us all for years. 
I had a good look at him now as he stood 
upon the hearth-rug, with my mother upon 
one side and my father on the other. He 
was a very large man, with noble shoulders, 
small waist, broad hips, well-turned legs, and 
the smallest of hands and feet. His face 
was pale and handsome, with a prominent 





chin, a jutting nose, and large blue staring 
eyes, in which a sort of dancing mischievous 
light was for ever playing. He wore a deep 
brown coat with a collar as high as his 
cars and tails as low as his knees* His 
black breeches and silk stockings ended in 
very small, pointed shoes, so highly polished 
that they twinkled with every movement 
His vest was of black velvet, open at 
the top to show an embroidered shirt-front, 
with a high, smooth, white cravat above it 
which kept his neck for ever on the stretch. 
He stood easily with one thumb in his arm- 
pit, and two fingers of the other hand in his 
vest pocket. It made me proud as I watched 
him to think that so magnificent a man, 
with such eas> T j masterful ways, should be 
my own blood relation,, and I could see 
from my mother's eyes as they turned 
towards him that the same thought was in 
her mind. 

All this time Ambrose had been standing 
like a dark-clothed, bronze faced image by 
the door, with the big silver-bound box under 
his arm. He stepped forward now into the 

room Google 


t+ Shall I convey it to your bed- 
chamber, Sir Charles ? ? ' he asked* 

'* Ah, pardon me, sister Mary," 
cried my uncle, " I am old-fashioned 
enough to have principles an ana- 
chronism, I know, in this lax age, 
One of them is never to allow my 
batterie de toilette out of my sight 
when I am travelling, i cannot 
readily forget the agonies which I 
endured some years ago through 
neglecting this precaution, I will 
do Ambrose the justice to say that 
it was before he took charge of my 
affairs, I was compelled to wear 
the same ruffles upon two consecu- 
tive days. On the third morning my 
fellow was so affected by the sight 
of my condition, that he burst into 
tears and laid out a pair which he 
had stolen from me." 

As he spoke his face was very 
grave, but the light in his eyes 
danced and gleamed He handed 
his open snuff-box to my father, as 
Ambrose followed my mother out of 
the room, 

** You number yourself in an illus- 
trious company by dipping your finger 
and thumb into it," said he, 

" Indeed, sir ! " said my father, 

" You are free of my box, as being 
a relative by marriage. You are free also, 
nephew, and 1 pray you to take a pinch. 
It is the most intimate sign of my good- 
will. Outside ourselves there are four, I 
think, who have had access to it— the Prince, 
of course; Mr, Pitt ; Monsieur Otto, the 
French Ambassador ; and Lord Hawkesbury, 
I have sometimes thought that I was pre- 
mature with Lord Hawkesbury." 

*' I am vastly honoured, sir/' said xny 
father, looking suspiciously at his guest 
from under his shaggy eyebrows, for with 
that grave face and those twinkling eyes it 
was hard to know how to take him, 

"A woman, sir, has her love to bestow," 
said my uncle. " A man has his snuff-box. 
Neither is to be lightly offered. It is a 
lapse of taste ; nay, more, it is a breach of 
morals, Only the Other day as I was seated 
in Watier% my box of prime macouba open 
upon the table beside me, an Irish bishop 
thrust in his intrusive fingers. 'Waiter/ I 
cried, ' my box has been soiled ! Remove 
it I * The man meant no insult, you under- 
stand, but that class of people must he kept 
in their proper sphere." 





"A bishop!" cried my father. I( You 
draw your line very high, sir/' 

"Yes, sir," said my uncle; "I wish no 
better epitaph upon my tombstone," 

My mother had in the meanwhile de- 
scended, and we all drew up to the table. 

"You will excuse my apparent grossness, 
Mary, in venturing to bring my own larder 
with me. Abernethy has me under his 
orders, and I must eschew your rich country 
dainties, A little white wine and a cold 
quail— it is as much as the niggardly Scotch- 
man will allow me." 

" We should have you on blockading 
service when the levanters are blowing/ 1 said 
my father- "Salt junk and weevilly biscuits, 
with a rib of a tough Barbary ox when the 
tenders come in. You would have your 
spare diet there, sir," 

Straightway my uncle began to question 
him about the sea service, and for the whole 
meal my father was telling him of the Nile 
and of the Toulon blockade, and the siege of 
Genoa, and all that he had s^en and done. 
But whenever he faltered for a word, my 
uncle always had it ready for him, and it 


Vol. K L- 34 

was hard to say which knew 
most about the business, 

" No, I read little or no- 
thing," said he, when my 
father marvelled where he 
got his knowledge. " The 
fact is that I can hardly 
pick up a print without see- 
ing some allusion to myself: 

'SirC T does this,* 

or ' Sir C - . . T , . . . 
says the other/ so I take 
them no longer. But if a 
man is in my position all 
knowledge comes to him. 
The Duke of York tells me 
of the Army in the morn- 
ing, and Lord Spencer chats 
with me of the Navy in 
the afternoon, and Dundas 
whispers me what is going 
forward in the Cabinet, so 
that I have little need of 
the Times or the Morning 

This set him talking of 
the great world of London, 
telling my father about the 
men who were his masters 
at the Admiralty, and my 
mother about the beauties 
of the town, and the great 
ladies at Almack's, but all 
in the same light, fanciful way, so that 
one never knew whether to laugh or to 
take him gravely, I think it flattered him to 
see the way in which we all three hueig upon 
his words. Of some he thought highly and 
of some lowly, but he made no secret that 
the highest of all* and the one against 
whom all others should be measured, was Sir 
Charles Tregellis hirn&elf. 

"As to the King,' said he, "of course, I 
am rami de Jamil k there, and even with you 
I can scarce speak freely, as my relations are 

"Cod bless him and keep him from ill !" 
cried my father. 

" It is pleasant to hear you say so," said 
my uncle. "One has to come into the 
country to hear honest loyalty, for a sneer 
and a gibe are more the fashions in town. 
The King is grateful to me for the interest 
which I have ever shown in his son + He 
likes to think that the Prince has a man of 
taste in his circle." 

"And the Prince?" asked my mother 
"Is he well-kivoured ? " 

"He is~)i4qfil¥l fft§Wi e °f a man - Al a 



distance he has been mistaken for me. And 
he has some taste in dress, though he gets 
slovenly if I am too long away from him. I 
warrant you that I find a crease in his coat 

We were all seated round the fire by this 
time, for the evening had turned chilly. The 
lamp was lighted, and so also was my father's 

" 1 suppose," said he, " that this is your 
first visit to Friar's Oak ? " 

My uncle's face turned suddenly very grave 
and stern. 

"It is my first visit for many years," said 
he. " I was but one-and-twenty years of age 
when last I came here. I am not likely to 
forget it." 

I knew that he spoke of his visit to Cliffe 
Royal at the time of the murder, and I saw 
by her face that my mother knew it also. 
My father, however, had either never heard 
of it, or had forgotten the circumstance. 

44 Was it at the inn you stayed ? " he asked. 

11 1 stayed with the unfortunate Lord Avon. 
It was the time when he was accused of 
slaying his younger brother and fled from 
the country." 

We all fell silent, and my uncle leaned his 
chin upon his hand, looking thoughtfully into 
the fire. If I do but close my eyes now, I 
can see the light upon his proud, handsome 
face, and see also my dear father, concerned 
at having touched upon so terrible a memory, 
shooting little slanting glances at him betwixt 
the puffs of his pipe. 

" I daresay that it has happened with you, 
sir," said my uncle at last, " that you have 
lost some dear messmate, in battle or wreck, 
and that you have put him out of your mind 
in the routine of your daily life, until 
suddenly some word or some scene brings 
him back to your memory, and you find your 
sorrow as raw as upon the first day of 
your loss." 

My father nodded. 

u So it is with me to-night. I never formed 
a close friendship with a man — I say nothing 
of women— save only the once. That was 
with Lord Avon. We were of an age, he a 
few years perhaps my senior, but our tastes, 
our judgments, and our characters were alike, 
save only that he had in him a touch of pride 
such as I have never known in any other man. 
Putting aside the little foibles of a rich young 
man of fashion, ks indescrctiotis d'unc Jcunesse 
doree, I could have sworn that he was as 
good a man as I have ever known." 

" How came he, then, to such a crime?" 
asked my father. 

y Digitize 

My uncle shook his head. 

"Many a time have I asked myself that 
question, and it comes home to me more 
to-night than ever." 

All the jauntiness had gone out of his 
manner, and he had turned suddenly into a 
sad and serious man. 

* " Was it certain that he did it, Charles ? " 
asked my mother. 

My uncle shrugged his shoulders. " I wish 
I could think it were not so. I have thought 
sometimes that it was this very pride, turning 
suddenly to madness, which diove him to it. 
You have heard how he returned the money 
which we had lost ? " 

14 Nay, I have heard nothing of it," my 
father answered. 

" It is a very old story now, though we 
have not yet found an end to it. We had 
played for two days, the fcur of us : Lofti 
Avon, his brother (Captain Barrington), Sir 
Lothian Hume, and myself. Of the Captain 
I knew little, save that he was not of the 
best repute and was deep in the hands of the 
Jews. Sir Lothian has made an evil name 
for himself since — 'tis the same Sir Lothian 
who shot Lord Carton in the affair at Chalk 
Farm— but in those days there was nothing 
against him. The oldest of us was but 
twenty-four, and we gamed on, as I say, 
until the Captain had cleared the board. 
We were all hit, but our host far the hardest. 

"That night — 1 tell you now what it 
would be a bitter thing for me to tell in a 
court of law — I was restless and sleepless, 
as often happens when a man has kept 
awake over-long. My mind would dwell 
upon the fall of the cards, and I was toss- 
ing and turning in my bed, when suddenly 
a cry fell upon my ears, and then a second 
louder one, coming from the direction of 
Captain Barrington's room. Five minutes 
later I heard steps passing down the passage, 
and, without striking a light, I opened my 
door and peeped out, thinking that someone 
was taken unwell. There was Lord Avon 
walking towards me. In one hand he held 
a guttering candle and in the other a brown 
bag, which chinked as he moved. His face 
was all drawn and distorted — so much so 
that my question was frozen upon my lips. 
Before I could utter it he turned into his 
chamber and softly closed the door. 

" Next morning I was awakened by find- 
ing him at my bedside. 

" * Charles/ said he, 4 1 cannot abide to 
think that you should have lost this money 
in my house. You will find it here upon 
your table/ C fron 




" It was in vain that I laughed at his 
squeamish ness, telling him that I should 
most certainly have claimed my money had I 
won, so that it would be strange indeed if I 
were not permitted 
to pay it when I 

M * Neither I nor 
my brother will 
touch it,' said he. 
* There it lies, and 
you may do what 
you like about it/ 

" He would listen 
to no argument, but 
dashed out of the 
room like a mad- 
man* But perhaps 
these details are 
familiar to you, and 
God knows they are 
painful to me to tell/ 1 

My father was sit- 
ting with staring 
eyes and his for- 
gotten pipe reeking 
in his hand. 

i£ Pray let us hear 
the end of it, sir," 
he cried. 

" Well, then, I had 
finished my toilet in 
an hour or so— for 
I was less exigeant 
in those days than 
now — and I met 
Sir Lothian Hume 
at breakfast. His 
experience had been 
the same as my own, 
and he was eager to 
see Captain Barring- 
ton, and to ascertain 
why he had directed 

his brother to return the money to us We 
were talking the matter over when suddenly 
1 raised my eyes to the corner of the ceiling 
and I saw — I saw " 

My uncle had turned quite pale with the 
vividness of the memory, and he passed his 
hand over his eyes, 

"It was crimson," said be, with a shudder, 
" Crimson with black cracks, and from every 
crack — but 1 will give you dreams, sister 
Mary* Suffice it that we rushed up the stair 
which led direct to the Captain's room, and 
there we found him lying with the bone 
gleaming white through his throat. A hunt- 
ing knife hy in the room— and the knife was 

togfr 1 

Lord Avon's, A lace ruffle was found in the 
dead man's grasp— and the ruffle was Lord 
Avon's, Some papers were found charred in 
the grate —and the papers were Lord Avon's, 

Oh, my poor friend, 
in what moment of 
madness did you 
come to do such a 

The light had gone 
out of my uncle *s 
eyes and the extrava- 
gance from his man- 
ner. His speech was 
clear and plain, with 
none of those strange 
London ways which 
had so amazed me. 
Here was a second 
uncle, a man of heart 
arid a man of brains, 
and I liked him 
better than the first. 
" And what said 
Lord Avon ? J * cried 
my father. 

" He said nothing. 
He went about like 
one who walks in his 
sleep, with horror- 
stricken eyes- None 
dared arrest him 
until there should be 
due inquiry, but 
when the coroner's 
court brought wilful 
murder against him, 
the constables came 
for him in full cry. 
But they found him 
fled. There was a 
rumour that he had 
been seen in West- 
minster in the next 
he had escaped for 
America, but nothing more is known. It 
will be a bright day for Sir Ixrthian Hume 
when they can pro\e him dead, for he is 
next of kin, and till then he can touch neither 
title nor estate/ 1 

The telling of this grim story had cast a 
chill upon all of us. My uncle held out his 
hands towards the blaze, and I noticed that 
they were as w f hiteas the ruffles which fringed 

" I know not how things are at Cliffe 
Royal now," said he, thoughtfully. * 4 It was 
rot a cheery house, even before this shadow- 
fell upon (ScigiAalftfr€fflT£tage was never set 


ihIlkk was i.okd avon walking tow Ah us me.' 

week, and then that 



forth for such a tragedy* But seventeen 
years have passed, and perhaps even that 

horrible ceiling " 

" It still bears the stain/* said I, 

I know not which of the three was the more 

for my rno 
ther had 
not heard 
of my ad- 
ventures of tin-* 
night, They never 
took their wonder- 
ing eyes off me as 
I told my story, 
and my heart 
swelled with pride 
when my uncle 
said that we had 
carried ourselves 
well, and that he 
did not think that 
many of our age 
would have stood 
to it as stoutly* 

" But as to this 
ghost, it must have 
been the creature 
of your own 
minds," said he. 
plays us strange 
tricks, and though 
I have as steady 
a nerve as a man 
answer for what I 
to stand under that blood stained 

" Uncle," said I, "I saw a figure as 
plainly as I see that fire, and I heard the 
steps as clearly as I hear the crackle of 
the fagots. Besides, we could not both be 
deceived." 1 

" Thsrc 

"It was too dark." 

" But only a figure ? JJ 

'* The dark outline of one." 

II And it retreated up the stairs ? " 
(l Yes." 

" And vanished into the wall ? N 

" Ves." 

u At what part of the wall? " cried a voice 
from behind us, 

My mother screamed, and down came my 
father's pipe on to the hearth-rug, I had 
sprung round with a catch of my breath, and 
there was the valet Ambrose, his bo- 

the shadow of the doorway, his dark face 
protruded into the light, and two burning 
eyes fixed upon mine, 

''What the deuce is the meaning of this, 
sir?" cried my uncle. 



wish, I cannot 
see if I were 
ceilir. ' at 


;i You 


that," said 
no features. 



It was strange to see the gleam and 
passion fade out of the man's face, and the 
demure mask or the valet replace it. His 
eyes still smouldered, but his features re- 
gained their prim composure in an instant. 

" I beg your pardon, Sir Charles," said he. 
"I had come in to ask you if you had any 
orders for me, and I did not like to interrupt 
the young gentleman's story. I am afraid 
that I have been somewhat carried away by 

" I never knew you forget yourself before," 
said my uncle. 

11 You will, I am sure, forgive me, Sir 
Charles, if you will call to mind the relation 
in which I stood to Lord Avon.' 1 He spoke 
with some dignity of manner, and with a 
bow he left the room. 

"We must make some little allowance," 
said my uncle, with a sudden return to his 
jaunty manner. " When a man can brew a 
dish of chocolate, or tie a cravat, as Ambrose 
does, he may claim consideration. The fact 
is that the poor fellow was valet to Lord 
Avon, that he.wMl^ft.iCliffd Roval upon the 



fatal night of which I have spoken, and that 
he is most devoted to his old master* But 
my talk has been somewhat trisie^ sister 
Mary, and now we Shall return, if you please, 
to the dresses of the Countess Lie v en, and 
the gossip of St. James/' 



My father sent me to bed early that night, 
though I was very eager to stay up, for every 
word which this man said held my attention. 

and I could dimly see that she was in 
white, with her black hair loose upon her 

" You won't forget us, Roddy ? You won't 
forget us ? " 

41 Why, mother, what is it ? " 
" Your uncle, Roddy — he is going to 
take you away from us." 
"When, mother?" 
"To-morrow.' 7 

Clod forgive me, how my heart bounded 
for joy, when her's which was within touch of 
it was breaking w r ith sorrow ! 

"Oh, mother!" I 
cried. tx To London?' 1 
" First to Brighton, 
that he may present 
you to the Prince. 
Next day to London, 
where you will meet 
the great people, 
Roddy, and learn to 
look down upon — to 


His face, his manner, the large wa\es and 
sweeps of his white hands, his easy air of 
superiority, his fantastic fashion of talk, all 
filled me with interest and wonder. But, as 
I afterwards learned, their conversation was 
to be about myself and my own prospects, 
so I was dispatched to my room, whence far 
into the night I could hear the deep growl 
of my father and the rich tones of my 
uncle, with an occasional gentle murmur 
from my mother, as they talked in the room 

I had dropped asleep at hst t when I was 
awakened suddenly by something wet being 
pressed against my face and by two warm 
arms which were cast round me. My 
mother's cheek was against my own, and I 
could hear the click of her sobs, and feel 
her quiver and shake in the darkness. A 
faint light stole through the latticed window, 

by LiOOglC 

look down upon your poor, simple, old- 
fashioned father and mother/' 

I put my arms about her to console her, 
but she wept so that, for all my seventeen 
years and pride of manhood, it set me 
weeping also, and with such a hiccoughing 
noise, since I had not a woman's knack of 
quiet tears, that it finally turned her own grief 
to laughter. 

" Charles would be flattered if he could see 
the gracious way in which we receive his 
kindness," said she, "Be still, Roddy, dear, 
or you will certainly wake him." 

II Til not go if it is to grieve you," I 

" Nay, dear, you must go, for it may be 

the one great chance of your life. And think 

how proud it will make us all when we hear 

of you in the company of Charles's grand 

friends. But you w r ill promise me not to 
Original from 




gamble, Roddy ? You heard to-night of the 
dreadful things which come from it." 

" I promise you, mother." 

" And you will be careful of wine, Roddy ? 
You are young and unused to it." 

"Yes, mother." 

"And play-actresses also, Roddy. And 
you will not cast- your underclothing until 
June is in. Young Master Overton came by 
his death through it. Think well of your 
dress, Roddy, so as to do your uncle credit, 
for it is the thing for which he is himself 
most famed. You have but to do what he 
will direct. But if there is a time when you are 
not meeting grand people, you can. wear out 
your country things, for your brown coat 's 
as good as new, and the blue one, if it were 
ironed and re-lined, would take you through 
the summer. I have put out your Sunday 
clothes with the nankeen vest, since you are 
to see the Prince to-morrow, and you will 
wear your brown silk stockings and buckle 
shoes. Be guarded in crossing the London 
streets, for I am told that the hackney coaches 
are past all imagining. Fold your clothes 
when you go : to bed,, iloddy, and do not 
forget your evening prayers, for, oh, my dear 
boy, the days of temptation are at hand, 
when I will no longer be with you to help 

So with advice and guidance both for this 
world and the next did my mother,, with her 
soft, warm arms around me, prepare me for 
the great step which lay before me. 

My uncle did not appear at breakfast in 
the morning, but Ambrose brewed him a dish 
of chocolate and took it to his room. When 
at last, about midday, he did descend, he 
was so fine with his curled hair, his shining 
teeth, his quizzing glass, his snow-white 
ruffles, and his laughing eyes, that I could 
not take my gaze from him. 

" Well, nephew," he cried, u what do you 
think of the prospect of coming to town 
with me?" 

" I thank you, sir, for the kind interest 
which you take in me," said I. 

" But you must be a credit to me. 
My nephew must be of the best if he is to 
be in keeping with the rest of me." 

" You'll find him a chip of good wood, 
sir," said my father. 

" We must make him a polished chip 
before we have done with him. Your aim, 
my dear nephew, must always be to be in bon 
ton. It is not a case of wealth, you under- 
stand. Mere riches cannot do it. Golden 
Price has forty thousand a year, but his 
clothes are disastrous. I assure you that I 

saw him come down St James's Street the 
other day, and I was so shocked at his 
appearance that I had to step into Vernet's 
for a glass of orange brandy. No, it is a 
question of natural taste, and of following the 
advice and example of those who are more 
experienced than yourself." 

" I fear, Charles, that Roddy's wardrobe is 
country-made," said my mother. 

" We shall soon set that right when we get 
to town. We shall see what Stultz or Weston 
can do for him," my uncle answered. " We 
must keep him quiet until he has some 
clothes to wear." 

This slight upon my best Sunday suit 
brought & flush to my mother's cheeks which 
my Uncle instantly Qbserved, for he was 
quick in noticing trifles. 

" The clothes are very well for Friar's Oak, 
sister Mary," said he. " And yet you can 
understand that they might seem rococo in 
the Mall. If ytiu leave him \n my hands I 
shall see to thfe matter." 

" On .how much, sir," asked my father, 
" can a young man aress in town ? " 

"With prudence and reasonable care, a 
young man of fashion can dress upon eight 
hundred a year," my uncle answered. 

I saw my poor father's face grow longer. 

"I fear, sir, that Roddy must keep his 
country clothes," said he. " Even with my 
prize-money " 

" Tut, sir ! " cried my uncle. " I already 
owe Weston something over a thousand, so 
how can a few odd hundreds affect it? If 
my nephew comes with me, my nephew is 
my care. The point is settled, and I must 
refuse to argue upon it." He waved his 
white hands as if to brush aside all 

My parents tried to thank him, but he cut 
them short. 

" By the way, now that I am in Friar's 
Oak, there is another small piece of business 
which I have to perform," said he. " I believe 
that there is a fighting-man named Harrison 
here, who at one time might have held the 
championship. In those days poor Avon 
and I were his principal backers. I should 
like to have a word with him." 

You may think how proud I was to walk 
down the village street with my magnificent 
relative, and to note out of the corner of my 
eye how the folk came to the doors and 
windows to see us pass. Champion Harrison 
was standing outside the smithy, and he 
pulled his cap off when he saw my uncle. 

" God bless me, sir ! Who'd ha' thought 
of seein' yoiDriadirfaW-snOak? Why, Sir 




Charles, it brings old memories back to look 
at your face again/' 

il (Jlad to sec you looking so fit, Harrison," 
said my uncle, running his eyes over him. 
"Why, with a month's training you would be 
as good a man as ever. 1 don't suppose you 
scale more than thirteen and a half?" 

"Thirteen ten, Sir Charles, I'm in my 
forty- first year, but I am sound in wind and 
limb, and if my old woman would have let 
me off my promise, I'd ha' had a try with 
some of these young ones before now. I 

" I remember you too well, Sir Charles 
Tregellis," said she, M I trust that you have 
not come here to-day to try to draw my 
husband back into the ways that he has 

"That's the way with her, Sir Charles," 
said the Champion, resting his great hand 
upon the woman's shoulder. " She's got my 
promise, and she holds me to it ! There was 
never a better or more hard-working wife, 
but she ain't what you'd call a patron of 
sport, and that's a fact" 


■MIK AIN I WH,\I VOL \i CAM. A 1M I'Mi l\ lif SH>KI. 

hear that they've got some amazm' good 
stuff up from Bristol of late." 

"Yes, the Bristol yellowman has been the 
winning colour of late. How dye do, Mrs + 
Harrison ? I don't suppose you remember 

She had come out from the house, and I 
noticed that her worn face — on which some 
passed terror seemed to have left its shadow 

hardened into stern lines as she looked at 
my uncle. 

*' Sport ! '* cried the woman, bitterly. (i A 
fine sport for you, Sir Charles, with your 
pleasant twenty-mile drive into the country 
and your luncheon basket and your wines, 
and so merrily back to London in the cool 
of the evening, with a well-fought battle to 
talk over, flunk of the sport that it was to me 
to sit through the long hours, listening for the 
wheels of the chaise which would bring my 
man back te ma Sometimes he could walk 
in, and soriYetimes lie wis led in. and some- 




if you had 

times he was carried in, and it was only by 
his clothes that I could know him " 

" Come, wifie," said the Champion, patting 
heron the shoulder, "I've been cut up in 
my time, but never as bad as that." 

" And then to live for weeks afterwards 
with the fear that every knock at the door 
may be to tell us that the other is dead, and 
that my man may have to stand in the dock 
and take his trial for murder." 

"No, she hasn't got a sport in' drop in her 
veins," said Harrison. "She'd never make a 
patron, never! It's Black Baruk's business 
that did it, when we thought he 'd napped it 
once too often. Well, she has my promise, 
and I'll never sling my hat over the ropes 
unless she gives me leave." 

" You'll keep your hat on your head like 
an honest, God-fearing man, John," said his 
wife, turning back into the house. 

" I wouldn't for the world say anything to 
make you change your resolutions/' said my 
uncle. "At the same time, 
wished to take a turn at the 
old sport, I had a good thing 
to put in your way." 

" Well, it's no use, sir," said 
the Champion, " but I'd be glad 
to hear about it all the same." 

" They have a very good bit 
of stuff at thirteen stone down 
Gloucester way. Wilson is his 
name, and they call him Crab 
on account of his style." 

Harrison shook his head. 
"Never heard of him, sir. 3 ' 

"Very likely not, for he has 
never shown in the P.R, But 
they think great things of him 
in the West, and he can hold his 
awn with either of the Belchers 
with the mufflers." 

"Span-in 1 ain't fighting" said 
the smith, 

" I am told that he had the 
best of it in a by- battle with 
Noah James, of Cheshire," 

" There's no gamer man on 
the list, sir, than Noah James, 
the guardsman," said Harrison. 
" I saw him myself fight fifty 
rounds after his jaw had been 
cracked in three places. If 
Wilson eould beat him, Wilson 
will go far." 

" So they think in the West, 
and they mean to spring him on 
the London talent. Sir Lothian 
Hume is his patron, and to make 

a long story short, he lays me odds that I 
won't find a young one of his weight to meet 
him. I told him that I had not heard of any 
good young ones, but that I had an old one 
who had not put his foot into a ring for many 
years, who would make his man wish he had 
never come to London, 

" ' Younsr or old. under twenty or over 
thirty-five, you may bring whom you will at 
the weight, and I shall lay two to one on 
Wilson, 1 said he. I took him in thousands, 
and here I am," 

lt It won't do, Sir Charles," said the smith, 
shaking his head, "There's nothing would 
please me better, but you heard for yourself." 

"Well, if you won't fight, Harrison, I must 
try to get some promising colt I'd be glad 
of your advice in the matter. By the way, I 
take the chair at a supper of the Fancy at 
the ' Waggon and Horses J in St. Martin's 
Lane next Friday, I should be very glad if 
you will make one of my guests. Halloa, 
who's this ? " Up flew his glass to his eye. 

J mi. ;,.■ 





Boy Jim had come out from the forge with 
his hammer in his hand. He had, I remem- 
ber, a grey flannel shirt, which was open at the 
neck and turned up at the sleeves. My uncle 
ran his eyes over the fine lines of his magnifi- 
cent figure with the glance of a connoisseur. 

"That's my nephew, Sir Charles." 

" Is he living with you ? " 

" His parents are dead." 

" Has he ever been in London ? " 

"No, Sir Charles. He's been with me 
here since he was as. high as that hammer." 

My uncle turned to Boy Jim. 

"I hear that you have never been in 
London," said he. "Your uncle is coming 
up to a supper which I am giving to the 
Fancy next Friday. Would you care to 
make one of us ? " 

Boy Jim's dark eyes sparkled with pleasure. 

" I should be glad to come, sir." 

" No, no, Jim," cried the smith, abruptly. 
" I'm sorry to gainsay you, lad, but there are 
reasons why I had rather you stayed down 
here with your aunt." 

" Tut, Harrison, let the lad come ! " cried 
my uncle. 

" No, no, Sir Charles. It's dangerous 
company for a lad of his mettle. There's 
plenty for him to do when I'm away." 

Poor Jim turned away with a clouded brow 
and strode into the smithy again. For my 
part, I slipped after him to try to console him, 
and to tell him all the wonderful changes 
which had come so suddenly into my life. 
But I had not got half through my story, and 
Jim, like the good fellow that he was, had 
just begun to forget his own troubles in his 
delight at my good fortune, when ifiy uncle 
called to me from without. The curricle with 
its tandem mares was waiting for us outside 
the cottage, and Ambrose had placed the 
refection basket, the lap-dog, and the precious 
toilet box inside of it. He had himself 
climbed up behind, and I, after a hearty 
handshake from my father, and a last sobbing 
embrace from my mother, took my place 
beside my uncle in the front. 

" Let go her head ! " cried he to the hostler, 
and with a snap, a crack, and a jingle, away 
we went upon our journey. 

Across all the years how clearly I can see 
that spring day, with the green English fields, 
the windy English sky, and the yellow, beetle- 
browed cottage in which I had grown from a 
child to a man. I see, too, the figures at the 
garden gate : my mother with her face turned 
away and her handkerchief waving ; my 
father, with his blue coat and his white shorts, 
leaning upon his stick with his hand shading 
his eyes as he peered after us. AH the 
village was out to see young Roddy Stone go 
off with his grand relative from London to 
call upon the Prince in his own palace. The 
Harrisons were waving to me from the 
smithy, and John Cummings from the steps 
of the inn, and I saw Joshua Allen, my old 
schoolmaster, pointing pie out to the people, 
as if he were showing what came from his 
teaching. To make it complete, who should 
drive past just as we cleared the village but 
Miss Hinton, the play-actress, the pony and 
phaeton the same as when first I saw her, 
but she herself another woman ; and I 
thought to myself that if Boy Jim had done 
nothing but that one thing, he need not think 
that his youth had been wasted in the 
country. She was driving to see him, I have 
no doubt, for they were closer than ever, and 
she never looked up or saw the hand that I 
waved to her. So as we took the curve of 
the road the little village vanished, and there 
in the dip of the Downs, past the spires of 
Patcham and of Preston, lay the broad blue 
sea and the grey houses of Brighton, with 
the strange Eastern domes and minarets of the 
Prince's Pavilion shooting out from the centre 
of it. 

To every traveller it was a sight of beauty, 
but to me it was the world, the great wide, 
free world, and my heart thrilled and fluttered 
as the young bird's may when it first hears the 
whirr of its own flight, and skims along with 
the blue heaven above it and the green 
fields beneath. The day may come when it 
may look back regretfully to the snug 
nest in the thorn bush, but what does it reck 
of that when spring is in the air and youth 
in its blood, and the old hawk of trouble has 
not yet darkened the sunshine with the ill- 
boding shadow of its wings? 

{To he continued.) 

Vol. xi. -36. 1 

by Google 

Original from 

From Behind the Speakers Chair. 


(viewed by henry w. LUC v.) 

THE Duke of Devonshire 

™,™.™ sitting in the Peers' Gallery the 
shifting ., & , i i ■ j *u 

other day, looking down on the 

> still new House of Commons, 

was probably unconscious of a circumstance 
that is in its way startling, not to say appal- 
ling. It is just thirty-nine years since he, 
then in his twenty-fourth year, walked up to 


the table to take the oath on being returned 
member for North Lancashire, The House 
was in those days composed of 652 members. 
To-day there are 670. Supposing at a full 
muster of the House all the members save 
those who had seats 111 the Chamber when 
the Duke of Devonshire was privileged to 
enter it were to rise and walk out, how 
mam- does the gentle reader think would be 
left behind? 

One, a solitary one } and he, by reason of 
his ancient standing and advanced age, 
regarded as the Father of the House. Of 
the host that then filled the Chamber with 
more or less portly presence, one only sits 
there still. 

Mr. Villiers was at that time in the prime 
of life, as life is counted among statesmen. 
He had already sat for Wolverhampton 
through an uninterrupted period of twenty- 
three years. Regarding the sedate position 
in politics into which, throughout the experi- 
ence of the present generation, he has 
crystallized, there is something almost reck- 
less in his description of himself in the Dod 
of the day. "A Liberal/' he said, "long 
known for his annual motions against the 
Corn Kiws, is in favour of the ballot, and 
against Church rates. tJ 

In those days the force of Radicalism 
could no further go. 

Of Mr. Villiers 3 colleagues on the 
"all, all Treasury Bench, where he sat as 
ark gone." Judge Advocate-General, not one 
is now alive. Lord Palmerston 
was Premier ; Sir George Cornwall Lewis, 
Chancellor of the Exchequer; Sir George 
Grey, Home Secretary ; the Right Hon, 
Henry Labouehere (not our Henry, but 
another) was Colonial Secretary ; Sir Charles 
Wood was First Lord of the Admiralty ; Ralph 
Osborne (better known in later years by his 
second Christian name, Bernal) was Secretary 
to the Admiralty ; Sir Richard Bethel was 
Attorney-General, with Sir Henry Keating 
Solicitor-General ; Mr. Lowe combined the 
offices of Vice-President of the Board of 
Trade, Paymaster-General of the Forces, and 
Treasurer of the Navy ; whilst Mr. E. P. 
Bouverie was President of the Poor Law 
Board* The Chief Secretaryship of Ireland 
was held by an Irishman, representative of 
the Herberts of Muckross. By a curious 
coincidence, the Chief Secretary of that day 
was connected by marriage with a still more 
famous Irish Secretary, then in jacket at 
Eton. Mr. Herbert married a daughter of 
Mr. James Balfour, of Wbittinghame. 

Amongst the few survivors out- 
side the House of the Parliament 
to which the future Duke of 
Devonshire came is the Marquis 
of Salisbury. The Prime Minister of to-day 


by GoOglC 

was then known as Lord Robert Cecil, repre- 
sented Stamford, and modestly lived far out- 
side the rata^klidSfcilSla>fair, No. 9, Park 



2 75 

Crescent, N.W., was his town 
address, and he had no 
country one. He ranked 
himself as "a Conservative, 
ready at all times to support 
measures to increase the 
usefulness of the Church ; 
opposed to any system of 
national education not based 
upon the truths of the reve- 
lation ; unwilling to disturb 
the balance of power in the 
Constitution by tampering 
with our representative 
system " — all which shows 
that Lord Salisbury at least 
has not strayed from the 
path he trod when he first 
entered the field of politics, 
The Duke of Devonshire, 
at this time known as Lord 
Cavendish, described him- 
self: "A Liberal; a firm 
supporter of Lord Palmer- 
ston's foreign policy ; in 
favour of an extension of 
suffrage." Mr. Dodson (now 
Lord Monk Bret ton) was 
returned to Parliament in the same year as 
the Duke of Devonshire. Amongst the few 
other men still living, though not in the 
House, who may have watched young Lord 
Cavendish march up the floor were Mr, 
Gladstone, member for Oxford University, 
describing himself as '< a 
Liberal-Conservative "; 
Richard Ashton Cross, at 
the time not dreaming of 
Grand Cross, much less of 
a peerage ; Mr, Whitbread, 
and Sir John Mowbray, 

Most of the 
some old names on the 
friends, muster-roll are 

unfamiliar to the 
ear of the politician of to- 
day. But one comes across 
a few old friends. There 
were Tom Collins — il junior/' 
he added in those salad days 
— "a Liberal -Tory/ 1 repre- 
senting Kna res borough ; 
Tom Connelly, who in the 
Parliament of 1874-80 used 
to stir up with a long pole 
his Home Rule compatriots 
on the other side of the 
House ; Mr. Dillwyn, lately 
passed away ; Mr. Horsman, 

D igitized by \j OO Q 



in this far-off year just re- 
lieved of the Chief Secre- 
taryship for Ireland ; Mr. 
Kinglake, at work upon his 
" History of the Crimea,'* 
meanwhile known in litera- 
ture as the " author of 
Lot hen/* in politics " an 
advanced Liberal, but de- 
clining to enter Parliament 
as the pledged adherent of 
Lord Palmerston or any 
other Minister" ; Sir Edward 
Lytton llulwer Lytton, 
"author of numerous well- 
known novels, dramatic 
works, and poems ?J ; Richard 
Monckton Milnes, author of 
" Memorials of a Tour in 
Greece," three volumes of 
poems, "Thoughts on Purity 
of Election " ; John Arthur 
Roebuck, +t a Liberal, Chair- 
man of the Administrative 
Reform Administration ; 
voted for the Ballot, Exten- 
sion of the Suffrage, and 
National Education/' In 
short, a real Radical Tare-em. Samuel 
Warren, still going the Northern Circuit 
and sitting as Recorder of Hull, "author of 
many well-known works in legal and genera 
literature, including 'The Diary of a Late 
Physician '"; Lord John Russell, benevolently 
regarding his former col- 
leagues on the Treasury 
Bench, from which, for a 
while, he had retired ; Lord 
Stanley, afterwards fifteenth 
Earl of Derby, at the time 
ranking as "a Liberal-Con- 
servative," and regarding 
with distrust Mr. Benjamin 
Disraeli, member for Bucks, 
(1 author of ' Coningsby,' and 
numerous other works of 
imagination/' living in town 
at "No. i, Grosvenor Gate, 
Park Lane, W., B and in the 
country at " H ughenden 
Manor, Bucks." 

The Parliament 

was not without* 

both a Harcourt 

and a Marjori- 

banks, but neither was also 

a member of the House 

that saw Home Rule passed 

through the Commons, 







Mr. Marjoribanks^ representing Benvick-on- 
Tweed, was father of the popular Liberal 
Whip of the last Parliament, and was sub- 
sequently raised to the peerage as Lord 
Tweed mo nth- The George 
Granville Vernon Har- 
court who sat for Oxford- 
shire in Palmerstoivs prime 
went much farther back to 
the parent Plantagenet stem 
than does the late Leader of 
the House of Commons. He 
was the eldest son of the 
Archbishop of \ r ork, was born 
in 1785, and married in the 
Waterloo year. 

Here U a far - stretching 
chain, showing how the Duke 
of Devonshire, still hale and 
hearty, sat in the House of 
Commons with a member 
who, returned for Lichfield in 
1806, just missed seeing Mr. 
Pitt in his place, was a 
member of the House when 
it lost Charles James Fox 3 
and was getting to be quite 
an old member when he may 
have heard the report of the 
pistol - shot that killed the 
Prime Minister, Mr. Perceval, 
as he was passing to his seat 
in the House of Commons. 

Amongst Lord Cavendish's col- 

roupell l ea £ ues i ' n th * s m*h Parliament 
■ ■ y of Queen Victoria, was Mr, Wil* 

l Kn ' '* Ham Roupell. Born in Lambeth 
in 1831, Roupell was in his 
twenty -sixth year when he en- 
tered the House of Commons, and is noted 
in Dad as "unmarried." He boldly avers 
himself "a member of the most advanced 
section of the Liberal Party; is in favour of 
the ballot ; is against Church rates ; is im- 
pressed with the necessity of a most liberal 
and comprehensive system of education ; will 
give Ix>rd Palmmton a general support j and, 
above a 11 j is opposed, on principle, to every 
form of grant of public money for religious 

Unfortunately, as all the world knows 
Roupell did not carry this stern principle to 
the extent of precluding him from making to 
himself liberal grants of public money. Five 
years later the ex member for Lambeth, tried 
at the Central Criminal Court before Mr- 
Justice Byles, pleaded guilty to a charge of 
forgery, and was sentenced to penal servitude 
for life. He temporarily emerged from his 





retirement a year later, when, discovery of 
fresh forgeries having been made, he appeared 
in the dock in convict's garb, and in detail, 
over which he seemed lovingly to linger, 
related how he had also forged 
his father's name to this new 
deed. The counsel on the 
other side declined to cross* 
examine him, decbring his 
belief that he was " absolutely 
unworthy of credence," 
Which seems the unkindest 
cut of all, and shows to what 
low estate an ex-mem her of 
Parliament might fall in those 
remote days* 

It is not probable 
that ever again 
will the Queen be 
seated on the 
Throne in the 
House of Lords, taking part 
in the opening ceremony of 
a new Session. Since the 
death of the Prince Consort, 
Her Majesty has never 
thoroughly enjoyed the situa- 
tion. It was one of the most 
marked testimonies of hur 
gracious favour towards Lord 
Beaconsfield that, thrice at 
critical periods of his admini- 
stration, the Queen broke 
through her rule and came down to West- 
minster to open Parliament in person. That 
was an honour never done to Mr. Gladstone 
through his successive Premier ships. In 
earlier days not only was this sovereign 
function never omitted, but the Monarch was 
usually also present to decree the dissolution. 
It is a pity, with a nation and in a capital 
whose pageants are so sparse, that this 
particular one should be foregone. There 
are few spectacles finer than that which 
glitters in the Hou§e of Lords on the 
occasion when the Queen is present at 
the opening of Parliament. The whole 
aspect of the place is changed, notably 
inasmuch as a considerable proportion 
of the sitting accommodation is allotted to 
peeresses who come down in full evening 
dress, radiant in jewels. The peers array 
themselves in their quaint scarlet cloaks, 
ermine trimmed. The Foreign Ministers 
wear all their orders, glistening on uniforms 
strangely fashioned, and for the most part 
much gold la ted. The Throne (really an 
ordinary gilt chair) is covered with an ermine 
cloak, lined Qtt@ilR*lyiflOibiarple, The Queen, 





on entering, is preceded by the Pursuivants 
and Heralds dad in cloth of gold. In 1877, 
the year which saw Benjamin Disraeli trans- 
formed into the Earl of Beaconsfield, the 
new peer walked before his Sovereigns clasp- 
ing in both hands the hilt of the sword of 

Considering the enormous preparation 




made for the ceremony, and in view of the 
notable throng packed closely in the Chamber, 
the business occupies disappointingly few 
minutes. I remember how, in the Session of 
1876, the Queen managed to open Parliament 
without uttering a single word, either aside or 
in public. At other times, in more genial 
mood, Her Majesty has stopped on her 
passage outward to talk with the Prince of 
Wales or other members of the Royal Family 
grouped round the Throne, 

I have a curious book in which 
is set forth what is probably the 
first detailed account of the open- 
ing day of a new Session of the 
Parliament at Westminster It goes back to 
a date beyond two centuries, long before 
the morning newspapers framed " Pictures 
in Parliament," even before newspapers 
were. The journalist was the Comte de 
Cominges, Ambassador of the French King 
at the Court of Charles II. "The King," 
he writes, *' was adorned with the Royal 
cloak and wore his crown. He took his 
seat The Lords and Bishops did the same, 
and then he ordered the members of the 
Lower House to be called, They rushed 
tumultously into the House and remained 
on the other side of the barrier which closes 

the pit, where the Lords sit, their Speaker 
standing in the middle," 

Those familiar with procedure in the House 
of Lords on occasions when the Queen opens 
Parliament in person will recognise how pre- 
cisely is followed at this day the course of 
procedure established in Stuart times. It is 
all the same, even to the rush of members of 
the House of Commons when bidden by 
Black Rod to attend. The Count does not 
take note of the presence of the Serjeant-at- 
Arms with Mace on his shoulder standing by 
the Speaker, with the gowned chaplain on the 
other side, the group swept in by the rush of 
the tide from the Commons. But there is no 
doubt the Speaker was thus enflanked on the 
day the Comte de Cominges looked on the 

The King himself spoke what the French- 
man calls "a harangue," "One thing I did 
not like," adds the critical observer, " he had 
it already written in his hand, and very often 
looked at his paper almost as if he had read 

It appears that the manuscript was an 
innovation accidentally following upon the 
illness of an eminent person, "* If the 
Chancellor, prevented by gout from being 
present, had been aisle to peiform his duty, 
the King/ 1 adds the French Minister, "would 
have been prompted by him from behind," 

Here is a pretty scene called up before 
the pleased vision by this simple record. 
Fancy Charles II., in his Royal cloak, 
with the golden crown on his head, recit- 
ing his speech, whilst behind the Throne 
lurks the Lord Halsbury of the day prompt- 
ing the Royal memory when it failed, and, it 



is to be hoped, not happening upon the 
misadventure common to amateur prompters 
of allowing! cJmabfri«Ti to be heard by the 


2 7 8 


audience in the stalls or in the pit, where the 
Speaker stood hemmed in by a crowd of 

In Stuart days the King, doubtless, had 
much to do with the composition of the 
Speech, as well as everything to do in its 
delivery. When a change was wrought and 
Parliament was opened by Royal Commission, 
particular care was taken to insist upon asser- 
tion of the Sovereign's personal responsi- 
bility for the Speech from the Throne, 
The Lord Chancellor, presiding over the 
Commission, is ever careful to announce 
that he is about to read the Queen's 
Speech " in the Queen's own words." In 
the earlier days of her reign, up to the 
commencement of her widowhood, Queen 
Victoria always read her speech herself, and, 
I have heard from those who listened, read 
it exceedingly well, in a sweet, clear voice 
that penetrated the utmost recesses of a 
chamber whose lack of acoustical properties 
has defeated many a robuster orator. 

What happened in the temporary revival 
of the Royal presence in the Disraelian 
Parliament was that the Lord 
Chancellor, advancing to the 
Throne and making low obei- 
sance, proffered the scroll on 
which the text of the Speech 
was written. The Queen, by a 
gesture, commanded him to 
retain it Retiring a pace and 
standing on the lower step, the 
I >ord Chancellor read the Speech, 
with suspicious emphasis affirm- 
ing that it was set forth i( in the 
Queen's own words,' 1 

The fact that the Sir 
George Elliot of to- 
day is the third 
baronet of that name 
marks how hurried 
are the foots teps of Time. It 
seems but a couple of years back 
that l( the bonny pit boy," as he 
liked to be called, sat for NortTi 
Durham. He was plain George 
then, and was, as he remained 
to the end, a prime favourite on 
both sides of the House. His 
speeches, when he was in the vein, were a 
great attraction. His portly presence, his 
beaming countenance, his unctuous voice, 
each added its attraction. Mr. Disraeli was 
particularly fond of a chat with the member 
for North Durham, a liking which finally took 
pleasant and practical form in conferring 
upon him a baronetcy. Occasionally he had 

Digitized by (jt 






him as a guest at Hughenden, and doubtless 
managed to extract from so rich a mine of 
practical knowledge much useful information. 
Sir George once told me with pardonable 
pride how he had, all unconsciously, made 
an important contribution to political con- 
troversy. It was at a time when the state of 
trade was a subject of anxious consideration. 
One day at a public meeting, Mr. Disraeli 
announced that improvement had certainly 
set in, since statistics provided by the Board 
of Trade showed that the demand for 
chemicals was steadily increasing. People, 
puzzled by the axiom coming from such a 
source, suspected that some epigram lurked 
behind the assertion. Upon investigation, 
it was found that in a single sentence Mr. 
Disraeli had probed the situation, and had 
hit upon an infallible proof of reviving trade. 
In all the staple trades that make England 
busy and wealthy, the use of chemicals largely 
enters, A slight increase in the sale of 
chemicals means a vastly increased output of 

Everyone marvelled that Mr. Disraeli, 
immersed in political affairs, 
should have fathomed this pro- 
found trade secret. There it 
was, tossed to the crowd in an 
off-hand manner, indicative of 
there being in stock ever so 
much erudition of a similar kind. 
The incident coming up in 
conversation some time after, 
Sir George Elliot told me that, 
at Hughenden, during one of 
his visits, on the eve of the 
delivery of this speech, Mr. 
Disraeli cross - examined him 
sharply as to how things were 
going in the manufacturing dis- 
tricts. Sir George thereupon 
let him into the secret of the 
bearings of fluctuations in the 
sale of chemicals, and a few days 
later the Premier (as Mr Disraeli 
was at the time), with accustomed 
sententiousness and gravity 
deeper than usual, flashed the 
truth upon the astonished public, 
just as in earlier days he had at 
Aylesbury instructed the pleased farmers, at 
the Saturday ordinary, on the intricacies of 
cross-breeding on sheep farms. 

Lord Carmarthen's succession to 
the Dukedom of Leeds removes 
from the House of Commons 
a member whose popularity 

widened with the circle of his acquaintance, 






The late member for Brixton was ^0™!*$^ 
not among the number who ^^"\ 

constantly strive to catch the 
Speaker's eye, a pursuit in which 
his stature and length of reach 
gave him some natural advantages. 
He was in even more useful ways 
a hard-working member, constant 
in attendance, faithful to com- 
mittee engagements, safe for all 

The thoroughness with which 
he carried on duties pertaining 
to any state in life to which he 
might be called was shown by 
the assiduity of his attendance on 
the claims of his constituency. 
Of all seats to hold Brixton is, 
from one point of view, least 
desirable. There is, literally, a 
penny tramway laid on from the 
doors of the voters to the foot of 
Westminster Bridge. 

Compare this state of things 
with the condition of, for example, 
the member for the Wick district. 
If it occurs to any of Sir John 
Pender's constituents that he will 
"just run down and see his 
member," get him to secure for 
him a seat in the gallery, and arm his 
wife and daughters through the library and 
dining-rooms, he is faced by a costly and 
prolonged journey. Bang would go many 
saxpences before he felt the welcoming 
pressure of his esteemed member's hand, and 
saw Sir John's face light up with sunny 
gratification at the mark of attention. Lord 
Carmarthen's late constituents had merely to 
step on to the tram or climb up on the 'bus, 
and there they were in no time. Per contra, 
Sir John Pender has occasionally, especially 
in view of a General Election, to visit his 
constituents, and finds it a far cry to Wick ; 
whereas trams and 'buses were at Lord 
Carmarthen's disposal, and after a quarter of 
an hour's jaunt he was in the midst of his 

Of these facilities he availed himself with 
a regularity that endeared him to every 
family on the register. Not a bazaar, not a 
hairdressers' ball, not a tea meeting, and very 
few christenings, stirred the depths of Brixton 
society without being graced by the presence 
of the noble lord. Brixton will ever cherish 
what is certainly the best mot electioneering 
annals record. When, in 1887, Lord Car- 
marthen presented himself before the electors, 
his boyish appearance suggested a rude 


A v 



inquiry to a political opponent in 
the crowd. 

" Does your mother know 
you're out ? " he bawled. 

" Yes," said Jx>rd Carmarthen ; 
"and at five minutes past eight 
on Tuesday evening next she'll 
know I'm in." 

And so it proved, for on that, 
the election day, Lord Carmarthen 
was returned at the head of the 
poll, and has since held an im- 
pregnable seat. 

During his stay in the House 

of Commons, Lord Carmarthen's 

legislative attempts were confined 

to the introduction of a Bill 

designed to limit the promiscuous 

possession and use of pistols. 

By unflagging industry, and the 

display of* much tact, he got the 

Bill through some critical stages. 

But it was finally wrecked in the 

rush of the Session's business. 

Doubtless he will present his 

Pistols Bill at the head of the 

House of Lords, and we shall 

hear report of it again in the 

Commons, where its author's 

sunny presence will long be 

When Lord Salisbury's present 

Government was formed, he invested the 

Marquis of Carmarthen with the dignity 

of Treasurer of the Household. This 

involved duties as Whip for which Lord 

Carmarthen's personal popularity, and his 

habit of thoroughly doing whatever fell to his 

hand, peculiarly fitted him. 

The proper style of the late 
" dolly." member for the Brixton divi- 
sion of Lambeth was George 
Godolphin Osborne, Marquis of Carmar- 
then. The noble marquis belonged, how- 
ever, to the favourite class of men who 
are affectionately known among their friends 
by a pet name. To these he w r as always 
11 Dolly." Whereby hangs a tale. On a 
day in July last, when the Magnificent 
anchored off the Nore, prepared for 
first trial trip of speed, Parliament 
still sitting, winding up the business 
to the Dissolution. Lord Charles 
Beresford, in command of the ship, invited 
a member of the House of Commons 
to run down to Chatham Dockyard to 
dine and sleep, and join the Magnificent 
in the early morning. He included 
in the invitation Lord Carmarthen and 
another friend, whose surname was not un- 





familiar to Shakespeare. Lord Carmarthen, 
having a prior engagement, was unable to 
accept the invitation, and the news was con- 
veyed to Lord Charles Beresford in the follow- 
ing telegram : "Dolly can't cmnt^ but Lucy will'" 
A telegram thus couched, however innocent 
in intent and real meaning, could not, in 
ordinary circumstances, have passed about 
from hand to hand in one of Her Majesty's 
dockyards without embarrassing comment, 
Happily it was addressed to so grave and 
reverend a seigneur as Lord Charles Beres- 
ford, and all was well. 

The death of Sir Julian Goldsmid, 

sir JULIAN after a lingering illness that has 

goldsmid. cut him off whilst still in the 

prime of life, and at a time when 
he had achieved high reputation in temporary 
occupancy of the Chair of Committees, recalls 
a creepy story. I heard it eighteen years 
ago, at the time when Sir Francis Goldsmid, 
long member for Reading, was killed by a 
railway accident at Waterloo Station. For 
more than a hundred years, so the story 
ran, a fatal spell hung over the Goldsmid 
family. Towards the close of the eighteenth 
century there died in Loudon the Rabbi de 
Falk, who, among his tribe, 
enjoyed high reputation as 
a seer. He left to Aaron 
Goldsmid, great - great - 
grandfather of the late 
member for St. Pancras, a 
sealed packet, with injunc- 
tions that it was to be care- 
fully preserved but never 
opened. The old Dutch 
merchant who founded the 
branch of the Goldsmid 
family in this country was 
warned that as long as 
this order were obeyed, so 
long would the Goldsmids 
flourish like a young bay tree. If it were 
disregarded, ill-fortune would for all time dog 
the footsteps of the race. 

Aaron Goldsmid kept the packet inviolate 
for some years. One day, curiosity becom- 
ing ungovernable, he opened it. When his 
servant came to call him he was found dead, 
By his hand was a piece of parch men L, 
covered with cabalistic figures* 


Aaron Goldsmid left a large portion of his 
fortune to two sons, Benjamin and Abraham. 
These went into business on the London 
Stock Exchange, and vastly increased their 
patrimony. Benjamin founded a Naval 
College, and performed many acts of less 
known generosity. He lived long, but the 
curse of the cabalist overtook him* 

Enormously rich, the delusion that he 
would die a pauper fastened upon him, and 
to avoid such conclusion of the matter he, 
on the 15th of April, 1808, being in his 
fifty fifth year, died by his own hand. Two 
years later his brother Abraham, being con- 
cerned in a Ministerial loan of fourteen 
millions, lost his nerve, blundered and 
bungled, sank into a condition of hopeless 
despondency, and on the 28th September, 
1810, a day on which a sum of half a million 
was due from him, he was found dead in 
his room. 

The fortunes of the family were restored 
by Isaac Goldsmid, nephew of the hapless 
brothers and grandson of the founder 
of the English house. Like all the 
Goldsmids, Isaac was a man of generous 
nature and philanthropic tendencies. He 
provided much money for 
Mrs. Fry's enterprises, and 
helped largely to found 
University College. With 
him it seemed that the 
curse of the cabalist had 
It is 
he died 
a state 
But he 
age of four- 
after which, 
the kings 
wrote cen- 
mati's days 

run its course. 

true that before 

he lapsed into 

of childishness. 

had at the time 

the limit of 

score years, 

as one of 

of his race 

turies back, 
are but labour and sorrow. 

Isaac Goldsmid was succeeded in his 
fortune and his baronetcy by his son Francis, 
on whom the curse of the cabalist seemed to 
fall when he was fatally mangled between the 
engines and the rails at Waterloo Station. 
To him succeeded Julian Goldsmid, who, 
grievously handicapped by failing health, has 
died at fifty-eight. 

by Google 

Original from 

(Mrs. Egerton Eastwick.) 

1UCAS RAYNOR had taken 

noml I e'h bridge dmvn 
to dinner at I,ady Wilmot's, 
and had been slightly surprised 
to discover half an hour later 
that the fair, boyish-looking 
man near the end of the table on the opposite 
side was her husband ; he had imagined her 
a debutante — pretty enough to justify his 
cousin's discrimination in assigning her to his 
care* She had also already interested him 
on other grounds ; she had a way of enforc- 
ing the fact that she had distinct character- 
istics, and formed opinions without being 
assertive ; at nineteen, this was amusing 
to a man of thirty-five, who cultivated a 
dilettantism to the effect that experience was 
the natural death of all opinion. 

Within the last half-hour he had heard 
several of the practices common to the world 
in which he lived without remonstrance 
denounced unhesitatingly as "wrong/ 5 The 
term amused him; it always did. The prac- 
tices in question might not fall in with his 
own inclinations, nor prove fertile sources of 
temptation to himself, but he could accord 
easy toleration to those whose views were 
more exhaustive. 

It was not to be expected — perhaps, from 

VrjI. x.i. ■ -36. 


his point of view, scarcely desirable — that the 
ingenuousness of his companion should last ; 
but in the meantime it was refreshing from 
its rarity. He wondered mildly where she 
had been educated, and where his cousin 
Fanny had discovered her. Her views har- 
monized with a type of beauty that was a trifle 
exa/fce^ and she was remarkably well-dressed. 

When she said : (t My husband is so much 
occupied, I am often obliged to go out 
alone " — she glanced down the table, and 
the fair young man at the other end im- 
mediately looked up and smiled, as if 
conscious of some occult influence. Mr, 
Ray nor had his poetic moods, and that flash 
of seemingly pure recognition and happiness 
running the gauntlet of a jaded society (he 
knew with fair correctness the social and 
domestic history of the greater number of 
his cousin's guests), cutting the babel of idle 
tongues, down the whole length of lamp-lit 
damask and flowers, struck him as visibly 
as though he had seen it, arrow -like and 
electric, flash through that heated atmo- 
sphere of artificial life. At the same time he 
decided that this must be an exceedingly 
foolish young couple, and felt annoyed 
without quite knowing why. 

The girl beside him had evidently forgotten 




his presence for the moment, and following 
her glance he studied with some interest the 
man who had evoked it. He was a mere 
boy, not more than two-and-twenty at the 
most He owned somewhat delicate 
features, with a fair, pink and white skin, and 
a moustache just emerging from down ; he 
was slight in build, certainly a gentleman, 
but giving some small evidences of rusticity 
discernible to the initiated. 

After dinner Mr. Raynor went so far as to 
ask his cousin a few questions about these 
yt>ung people. 

" My dear boy, I was so delighted to see 
you so attentive. I felt sure the poor little 
thing would be quite safe and happy with 
you. Aunt Jane asked me to call — to show 
them some attention." 

" But who are they ? " 

" Why, he is young Lethbridge — you know 
Philip Lethbridge — son of the parson — Aunt 
Jane's pet parson at Lowminster ; and she 
was Rosamond Beauclerc — her mother, I-ady 
Mary, the widow, took Fir Cottage ; she is 
Aunt Jane's great friend. The girl has made 
a shocking bad match, and that's a fact. If 
Aunt Jane had only sent her to me before 
she was married ! I can't imagine what 
Lady Mary was thinking about to allow it ; 
but she always was romantic —ideal —that sort 
of thing. " 

Glancing across at young Mr. Lethbridge, 
Raynor smiled. He fancied that the girl's 
own will had had something to do with the 
mother's decision. 

"What does he do — this young Leth- 

" My dear boy, only think of it ! He is in 
some sort of office — tea, I believe. I really 
don't think he has more than three hundred 
a year, or some ridiculous sum of that kind." 

" You think you have done the child a kind- 
ness in bringing her here to-night, Fanny ? " 

"Well, what could I do? Aunt Jane 
asked me to be civil She has met some of 
the best people, and I sent her in with you — 
I knew you were safe. I wouldn't have 
given her to Darcy Langton for the world — he 
would have made love to her at once " 

" I should imagine Mrs. Lethbridge could 
take care of herself," said Raynor. 

As he walked to his club, however, he 
mentally indorsed his cousin's opinion, that 
it was a pity Rosamond Beauclerc had not 
been given a season in town before she 
became Mrs. Lethbridge. 

Another season had reached its close ; 
nearly everyone had left town ; Lady Fanny 

Digitized by Google 

was gone, Lucas Raynor was going. He was 
to start for Norway on the morrow, and he 
was now on his way, driving through a hot 
July sun, to say farewell to Rosamond 

He found her at home in the flat in 
Albemarle Mansions, South Kensington ;' in 
fact, she was expecting him. Just fifteen 
months had elapsed since her first introduc- 
tion to society and Lucas Raynor — months 
filled with experience, and consequently with 
change. Society had found young Mrs. 
Lethbridge very pretty and very charming, 
and agreed to forego some of its usual 
exclusiveness in her favour. Two or three 
of the best houses had been opened to her, 
and their owners even occasionally found their 
way to the Kensington flat; whenever this 
occurred, they drove home with the pleased 
consciousness of having done a graceful 

Not so Lucas Raynor: he went to Albemarle 
Mansions veiy frequently, and was, as usual, 
only conscious of having pleased himself. 
The Mrs. Lethbridge awaiting him to-day 
in her pretty shaded little drawing-room 
was in many respects another person 
from the Rosamond whose ingenuous 
opinions had amused him the year before. 
Being essentially observant and adaptive, 
she had fully acquired the tone necessary 
to her position — she even ran the danger 
of acquiring a little too much ; a clever 
woman needs a good deal of spirit and force 
to cover the deficiencies of ^300 a year. 
Yet a quarter of an hour ago she had for- 
gotten all about society. She had been 
playing — a very child herself — with her six- 
months'-old Rosamond in the little room at 
the end of the passage which she called 
her nursery. Now, that after - luncheon 
hour being over, Mrs. Lethbridge had 
resigned her baby to the girl in charge, and 
arrayed herself for the afternoon in a pretty 
tea-gown, arranged by her own fingers out of 
a quaint brocade and some old lace that had 
belonged to her mother. The quaintness of 
it suited her, and Lucas Raynor, coming out 
of the scorching sun into the coolness of her 
darkened room, thought he had never seen 
her look more charming. 

44 You are really leaving to-morrow?" she 
said, after handing him a cup of tea. 

44 1 suppose so. The thought that you — 
all of you — are remaining to broil in this 
heat does not enhance the pleasure." 

44 1 am glad you feel like that ! Philip 
looks ill and bothered — for his sake I wish 
we could go — but we must wait till some 




other man comes back — he says nearly 
another month." 

"It is positively cruel. Couldn't you go 
down to Lady Mary, and leave him to 
follow ? " 

11 Mother wants us ; but let us talk 
of something else— another cup? — 
no — well, take this more comfortable 
chair— and let us have one last good 

In return — expiation. Child, if you ever 
want a friend, let me he that friend" 

Lucas Ray nor had the gift of a sympa- 
thetic voice — it was deep, sincere, eminently 
sympathetic now. The tears rose in the 



about everybody and everything." 
Leth bridge had her reasons for not 
entering upon domestic trials, which generally 
took the form of pecuniary shortcomings with 
Lucas Ray nor. He had more than once 
hinted at a wish to lighten them, so far as 
she was concerned. 

He sank lazily back in the cushioned chair, 
but evaded the gossip, 

"Mrs. Lethbridge — Rosamond, child— I 
am going to-morrow* I feel really unquiet, 
anxious, at leaving you with this boy-hushand 
of yours — you are a couple of children --let 
me speak to you as an old friend-" 

" As old as you please, 1 ' she said, pleasantly 
— "but don't insult our youth," 

He winced a little, " It would be difficult 
to do that/' he said. Indeed, she was a 
picture, laughing at him from her easy 
chair, her pretty finger-tips pointed and 
meeting. u You have let me feel your 
pride and independence often enough ; but 
I must tell you once more I am an idle 
man without ties, with more dross than I 
know how to get rid of. You don't know 
the world — what troubles your marriage 
may mean, however full of love," with a 
slight inflection of the voice. "For some 
of the possible difficulties I feel responsible. 

1 ties 1 reel respons 


eyes of pretty, warm-hearted Rosamond 
I^ethhridge* She held out her hand. 
"Thank you, Mr Ray nor, for myself and 
for Philip." 

He held the hand seme time, and gazed 
into the pretty face — all the prettier for the 
softening of foreshadowed emotion. " I 
have your promise, Rosamond?" 

"You have." She spoke earnestly, but 
during the quarter of an hour that he still 
remained with her, she did not tell him her 

When he was gone her brightness deserted 
her ; she leaned back in her chair idly, hope- 
lessly. What would she not have given to 
tell him, to let him lift the burden from her 
shoulders ? 

But her worldly experience had advanced 
suffieiently for her to understand that the 
leap out of Scylla might have landed her in 
Chary bdis. 

Lady Mary had educated her daughter 
very carefully in the ivy -cove red cottage 
at Lowminster, 

With extraordinary folly she had not 
opposed the love match with the rector's son, 
Philip. She knew Philip well and believed 
in him : he was sure to make his way ; but 
she had p^^flpunted upon the dangers of the 




friendship of such friends as Lady Fanny and 
Lucas Raynor. 

Young Mrs. Lethbridge had thoroughly 
enjoyed her gaieties and her popularity, and 
she knew that for a large proportion of both 
she was mainly indebted to Raynor. 

He had unostentatiously placed many of 
the privileges of wealth at her command, and 
if Philip made no demur, why should she ? 
She never went into evening society without 
her husband, and in the daytime it was not 
difficult to find a companion ready to share 
the prestige of pretty Mrs. Lethbridge. She 
was keenly sensitive to external impressions, 
and a dangerous humility underlaid her 
vanity. She was always profoundly touched 
at being loved. 

Yet she retained the exactness of her 
principles. Only on the subject of unpaid 
bills, perhaps, her horizon had somewhat 

Raynor never startled her or offended her 
views ; if an expression of resigned hopeless- 
ness, a hint of underlying depth of feeling 
sometimes crept into his attitude, it lent just 
a shade of considerate gentleness, a fear to 
wound, to her side of the intercourse. His 
usual indifference increased the subtle 

It was inevitable, that she should feel 
his departure ; in the increasing heat and 
dulness of town her life seemed flat and 
colourless, even though Philip remained ^nd 
the baby. Unfortunately other things 
remained, notably relics of past joys in the 
shape of bills for dresses and bonnets, which 
even her intelligence had been unable to 
compass at home. 

Philip also was a source of disquiet ; he 
was looking careworn and ill ; he needed 
rest from that horrible City ; certainly another 
month in town was not a pleasant outlook. 

She might have ended it at once by going 
down to Lady Mary — who would have been 
only too delighted to welcome her and the 
baby at the cottage — but she had not yet 
compassed the idea of leaving Philip. 

A fortnight — three weeks of the purgation 
of Mrs. Lethbridge had passed, and she was 
beginning to look forward to her release. 
Next week Lucas Raynor was to return from 
Norway ; he would stop for a night or two in 
town on his way to the moors ; after that 
Philip would be free to go with her to Low- 

Rosamond's cheeks were pale and the 
baby fretful ; as for Philip, his wife could not 
think what ailed him — once or twice he 


had been distinctly cross, and he was looking 
really ill. It must be that they all needed 
a change. 

He came in while she was thinking about 
him. It was Saturday, and the offices closed 
early ; he had walked through the dry, dusty 
park in the hot August sun. The change in 
the fresh, boyish face since the evening his 
young wife had darted her glance of recogni- 
tion down the length of Lady Fanny's dinner- 
table was more apparent, more painful, than 
the change in her. 

Philip Lethbridge was barely twenty-three 
years of age, but his fair skin had become 
sallow; premature lines had drawn themselves 
around the mouth, that was surely too sweet 
to be strong — round the blue eyes, that 
had lost all laughter— across the white 

Rosamond rose to meet him as he entered, 
and passed her hand across the forehead 
and pushed back the damp, fair hair. 

" How tired you look, dear boy." 

He tried to smile back at her ; and these 
two children, beginning their voyage of life 
in a whirlpool, sat down side by side. 

Philip leaned back among the sofa cushions 
with closed eyes. 

*' Dear, you want rest and change ; only 
one week more, and we can go down to 
mother's. You will see the rector, and " 

He turned away sharply with something 
like a sob. 

" Philip — what is it ? Tell me — I am 
your wife." She had risen to her feet. She 
felt that the strength lay with her. 

Philip had thrown his arm across the end 
of the sofa and buried his face. He looked 
up at last. " Rose, I have tried to bear it 
alone, hoping help would come. It is no 
use. I borrowed ^150 at the beginning of 
the year — there were so many expenses. 
Morson won't renew, and it falls due on 
Monday. He threatens to go to the chief." 

The girl stood aghast. She knew very 
little about bills and liabilities, but she 
realized that her husband's need was des- 
perate. She looked around their little home ; 
even if everything were sold up the amount 
would barely be realized. Philip was not to 
blame ; he spent nothing on himself ; Rosa- 
mond had been ill a long time before the 
baby was born ; there had been so many 
expenses. Now there was no one to whom 
they could apply. Her mother had no 
power over her own small capital. The 
rector's large family left him no margin. 

If Raynor were only at home ! If he 
would only come — if she but knew where to 




•40 9 


telegraph ; but that was impossible — he was 
travelling constantly. 

She knelt down beside her husband and 
put her arms about his neck, and drew his 
face down to hers, 

Li Dear, I will find this money, I will, 
somehow. Don't fret so ; you did it for me." 

She knew Morson slightly. He was the only 
one of the men at the office whom Philip had 
ever brought to the house— now she under- 
stood why. She disliked him cordially, and 
suspected him of a grudge against Philip as 
a younger man placed over his head. Also 
she knew that an appeal to the chief would 
be fatal. Masham and Co. — the great tea 
mere hauls -boasted that they paid large 
salaries and retained no clerks who contracted 
debts, Even her own nest-egg at the 
bank was gone — ^100 — the wedding 
gift of an uncle who had vituperated 
her for marrying, and yet not utterly 
cast her off. So much of it had been 
needed to make the flat fit for the reception 
of Lady Fanny's friends ; but, of course, that 
expense would not occur again. Nothing, how- 
ever, remained of the ^100 but the useless 
cheque-book, Could she apply now to 
this old man— her dead father's brother? 

Digitized by\j< 

She was dreadfully 
frightened at the 

§ thought, and, be- 

sideSj he lived in 
Philip had wasted 
so much time in use- 
less effort on his own 
account to raise the 
money, the hours of 
respite were terribly 
short. Nevertheless, 
this was the only 
plan that presented 
itself for the comfort 
of her husband, She 
assured him she 
should be able to 
meet the immediate 
need from that 
quarter. She would 
telegraph to Somer- 
setshire that after- 
noon to know if she 
could come down 
the following day — 

The prospect was 
not a pleasant one. 
She remembered 
vividly the scene with 
Uncle Dick before her marriage— and the 
fact of having so speedily justified his warn- 
ings and evolved the predicted difficulties 
was scarcely likely to reinstate her in his 
favour But when Rosamond saw the look 
of relief on her husband's face at the hope 
of deliverance her courage rose to the point. 
She saw him lie (jack on the sofa, and 
watched the lines of the fair, gentle face 
relax until he fell into a calm sleep. Then 
she stole out softly for her bonnet, that she 
might send her telegram at once. As she 
passed the nursery she went in and hugged 
the baby Rosamond by way of encourage- 

When she returned Philip was awake, but 
his head was aching terribly, and she per- 
suaded him to go to bed. 

Till ten o'clock she sat listening and wait- 
ing. She had wired : " Am in great trouble 
—may I come to-morrow ? " 

At last, when she knew that the offices 
were closed and she had still received no 
answer, she told herself that either Uncle 
Dick was coming, or she would receive a 
letter on Monday morning. But the thought 
failed to secure her a night's rest. 
The cry of her heart was :— 




"If Ray nor were only here ! How easy it 
would be ! " 

The first hours of that terrible Sunday, 
hot, still, desolate, passed* After lunch 
Rosamond got oat her u Bradshaw*" There 
was a train which would take her to Bath 
t'lat ni^htj and she determined to go, The 
suspense and risk of waiting were unbearable. 
Philip took her to Paddington ; it was their 
first parting, and Rosamond, watching her 
husband's haggard, wistful face, strove to 
show no signs of weakness ; but her heart and 
head were aching. Still, she smiled as she 
waved her last good bye ; only when the train 
steamed away from the platform, she buried 
her face and cried a little. It was the first 
solitary journey of her life. 

When Philip left home for the office < n 
the Monday morning Rosamond had, of 
course, not returned He hardly knew how- 
he dragged through his daily routine during 
the hours of sus- 
pense that followed. 
He thought that 
had she succeeded 
she would have 
come to the City 
or telegraphed, and 
when he at length 
turned westward, he 
was prepared for 
the worst. 

But she met him 
on the threshold of 
his home and threw 
her arms about his 
neck before he 
could question her. 

tL It is all right, 
dear, 1 * she whis- 
pered ; ** I have 
got it — only just in 

" My poor, brave 
darling — you look 
utterly worn out." 

** YeSj I am tired : 
I have only just 
come in." 

She said very little then or afterwards about 
her visit to Bath, from which Philip gathered 
that her experiences had not been altogether 
pleasant, and forbore to question her ; she 
evidently shrank from detailing them. She 
had the money, ^150, in notes and gold, 
which was the main point ; and Morson's 
bill was taken up that night, somewhat to his 

During the first few days that followed this 

Digitized by Google 

escape, some of the old careless, light-hearted- 
ness seemed restored to the home of the 
Let h bridges. Rosamond's gaiety under the 
reaction was, perhaps, a little excessive and 
forced ; she was not looking strong ; she was 
restless and easily tired. 

Towards the close of the week she received 
a letter from Ray nor — he had joined another 
man in a yacht, and they intended cruising 
along the const ; this would delay his return 
for a fortnight or three weeks ; he mentioned 
one or two places where they would probably 
put in for letters, but his plans seemed some- 
what vague. 

Rosamond seemed disappointed, and this 
slight check proved enough to change the 
uncertain flow of her spirits into depression. 
Philip grew anxious about her, and urged her 
to go at once to htr mothers with the child 
--he would follow ; but she resolutely refused 
to leave him ; jet darkened blue shadows 

circled beneath her 


and her face 


became thin and 
transparent ; she 
neither slept nor ate 

At the end of 
the second week 
she had an attack 
of low fever. Her 
doctor attributed it 
to remaining in 
town during the 
summer heat, when 
already suffering 
from great nervous 
exhaustion : but she 
was now too ill to 
be moved , and 
I «ndy Mary was sent 

When Raynor at 
length arrived in 
town Rosamond 
was lying uncon- 
scious. He called 
daily at Albemarle 
Mansions, and on 
one occasion Tady Mary received him. 

His expressions of sympathy and concern 
were void of offence, and certainly sincere; 
but she confided to Philip that he filled her 
with dislike and distrust, and asked a few- 
questions about bis evidently familiar footing 
in the establishment, which its master seemed 
rather at a loss to answer* Like her daughter, 
lady Mary was impulsive, and her judgment 
of Raynor was probably irrational and beyond 




the mark ; he had never given evidence of 
evil tendencies. He was good-looking and 
well bred, and generally popular. Philip 
thought his mother-in-law must have some 
private reason for her prejudice, and wondered 
what it might be. The thought dwelt in his 
mind all that night, distracting it from his 
wife's danger with the first shadow of jealous 
disquiet he had ever felt. 

On the morrow Ray nor failed to call 
at Albemarle Mansions, and the following 
morning Philip was surprised to see him 
enter the tea house in Mincing Lane. 
His first thought was for Rosamond. 
Raynor's usually pleasant and easy-going 
countenance was ominously grave ; it was 
possible that he had come straight from 
Kensington with the news of some sudden 
change. Philip led the way to his private 
room, and it was at first a relief when Raynor 
took a cheque from his pocket-book and 
laid it on the table. 

" My business is scarcely pleasant," he 
said ; " I am forced to ask you if you can 
explain that" 
.Philip glanced at the cheque. "What is 

this ? — ' pay Philip Lethbridge ' I never 

saw this until now ; surely it is needless to 
ask " 

Raynor turned the paper and pointed to 
the indorsement " As you see, it has been 
cashed ; have you any idea by whom ? Is 
that your writing ? " 

The red flush which had mounted to 
Philip's face ebbed back, leaving him deadly 
white. The signature was there — like his 
own— badly, hurriedly written. 

"Before God, Raynor, no. You can't 
suspect me. My name has been used as 
well as yours." 

" The date is July 28th — does that suggest 
anything? — two days before I left town." 

" Nothing," said Philip. 

" It was not presented, however, until 
August the 22nd, and then by a woman — 
apparently a lady." 

Philip started visibly ; for the first time a 
look that might imply consciousness of guilt, 
or the knowledge of some fatal possibility, 
swept over his face. It transformed it like a 
dream of horror. 

Raynor was watching him closely. 

"I have not yet dishonoured, the cheque," 
he went on, " but I made a few cautious 
inquiries, I learnt that the lady being a 
stranger to the clerk, he showed the cheque 
to the cashier ; but as your name was known 
at the bank it was cashed without further 
question. There seemed to have been an 

Digitized by Lt< 

impression, however, that the lady in question 
was Mrs. Lethbridge " 

" My wife travelled up from Somersetshire 
on the 22nd. She did not reach town until 
after four o'clock." 

Raynor looked relieved. "Well, that is 
conclusive, at any rate ; but the mystery is 
somewhat thickened. I am afraid I can 
hardly prevent any action the bank may take 
in the matter." 

He replaced the cheque in his pocket- 
book, and was turning away. . 

Philip was leaning on the table as though 
to steady himself; he avoided Raynor s eyes. 
" Wait twenty-four hours," he said, huskily. 
" I will not leave town ; if at the end of that 
time you do not hear from me, do what you 

Raynor hesitated. "Very well." he said 
at length ; " I will do nothing for twenty-four 

He left the office convinced not only of 
Philip's guilt, but that the terms of his guilt 
effectually isolated him from his wife. The 
man had virtually confessed. It was a stupid 
crime, and he could hardly have hoped to 
escape detection ; probably he had intended 
leaving the country, but had not counted 
upon Raynor's examining his banking 
account during these few days in town ; also, 
Rosamond's illness had been an unforeseen 
contingency — delaying his plans by keeping 
her in town. 

It was certainly a relief to ascertain that 
circumstances, open to proof, completely 
exonerated Rosamond. Raynor had never 
dwelt upon her possible complicity, but she 
might have cashed the cheque at Philip's 
request, in ignorance of his guilt Her 
absence protected her even from suspicion, 
while it had probably facilitated his 
opportunities ; nevertheless, Raynor con- 
trived to intercept Mrs. Lethbridge's 
nursemaid on her way to the Gardens 
with the baby, that same afternoon, and 
to learn from her, through inquiries after 
Rosamond's health, that the time mentioned 
by Philip for his wife's return was correct 
The girl said she dated her mistress's illness 
from that hurried journey, taken in the heat 
of the day with no one to look after her. 
She looked downright ill when she came in, 
straight from the train at half-past four ; she, 
the nurse, had made her some tea. 

Then Raynor went back to his rooms. 
He fully believed that Philip would avail 
himself of the granted twenty-four hours to 
get clear away. It was, perhaps, the best 
thing that could happen 




When Philip returned to hi> home that 
night he said nothing to Lady Mary of the 
fresh disaster hanging over it ; he made some 
pretence of dining, and then took his place 
by his wile's bedside. Rosamond was very 
ill, and he had arranged to watch that night, 
while his mother-in-law took a few hours' 

If he had intended to make any effort to 
discover the author of the crime against 
himself and Ray nor, his resolution had 
apparently deserted him — equally he showed 
no signs of preparation for flight. 

He never left his wife's room through the 
long hours of the weary night. In the 
morning, when Lady Mary came to relieve 
him> he went out to the Gardens, returned, 
drank a cup of coffee, and learned that Rosa- 
mond was quieter. He did not again leave 
the house until he started as usual for the 
City. There had come over him a despair, a 
hopeless dejection, which seemed that of a 
guilty man who knows that his guilt is 
manifest and must be atoned before the 

In the evening he was arrested in the 
Strand on his way home, on a charge of 
forgery, at the 
instance of the 
London and 
Surrey Bank. 

Whatever doubt 
might have exis- 
ted as to his guilt 
was finally set at 
rest at the inquiry 
which followed. 

Morson ap- 
peared as a wit- 
ness for the 
prosecution, and 
produced the 
notes paid over 
to him by Philip 
Lethbrid^e on the 
22nd August. The 
numbers tallied 
with those given 
by the bank in 
cash for Lucas 
Raynor's cheque. 

L a d y M a r y 
alone, in face of 
all evidence, re- 
fused to lose faith 
in her son in-law. 
When she could 
leave Rosamond, 
she went to see 

Digitized by GoOgLe 

arrested os A chawl;k oh FuKufcK' 

him in Newgate— and came back, white^faced 
and her eyes dim with weeping — vet without 
any signs of the indignation she should have 
felt against the man who had ruined her 
daughter's life. 

She showed far more wrath against Raynor, 
whom, somewhat irrationally, she credited 
with all the misery that had befallen them, 

His visits irritated her — the fruit, the 
flowers, constantly arriving, the countless 
luxuries with which he sought to lighten 
Rosamonds term of suffering, were an 
annoyance — yet she feared to refuse his 
attentions and openly offend him. 

So far all this trouble had been successfully 
kept from Rosamond ; the fever and delirium 
had left her, but she was terribly weak ; she 
had asked several times for Philip, and 
1 ,ady Mary had been forced to tell her that 
he had completely broken down under the 
strain of nursing her, and been ordered into 
the country so soon as her immediate danger 
was passed. He w;is recruiting at Low- 
mi nster, and by-and-by they would join him. 
Her conscience reproached her, but she was 
assured that the truth, in her daughter's 
present state, would prove fatal What could 

she do ? 

But soon Rosa- 
mond showed 
another anxiety, 
not so easily put 
aside — she must 
and would see 
Raynor — his 
flowers showed 
that he was in 
town, and she 
would take no 
denial So .soon 
as she could be 
lifted to a sofa 
h e was to be 
admitted, I^ady 
Mary became 
passive; she 
seemed to feel 
that some things 
were beyond her 
interference and 
must take their 
course — if any- 
thing, she rather 
favoured Rosa- 
mond's wish, 

Lucas, cool 
man of the world 
as he was, felt 

somewhat un- 
original from 




nerved at the prospect Philip had sinned, 
not only against the law, but against 
his wife. That her life should be unlinked 
from such a man would be only merci- 
ful justice — the man who still obstinately 
shielded the shameless woman who had been 
his accomplice. But all this was a trial still 
to be faced by the girl who was slowly return- 
ing from the jaws of death, and Ray nor felt her 
pain more than he cared to own — more than 
he had thought he was ever again to feel 
anything. By-and-by she would rally — he 
did not believe she had ever deeply loved 
this Philip — and in all his visions of the 
future the Rosamond wronged and forsaken 
was a Rosamond watched over by himself. 
There lay behind the present darkness a 
gleam of half-acknowledged joy. There were 
countries where such crime as Philip's was 
held legal ground for a divorce, and surely 
in common reason no one could hold her 
bound. In the days of her comparative 
happiness he had been content to leave the 
future wrapped in convenient obscurity, but 
now . On the other hand, he knew some- 
thing of the perversities of women ; it was 
possible that she might resent Philip's 
downfall upon himself, and refuse to see 
reason. * 

He found her lying among her pillows, 
painfully worn and fragile. The great eyes 
looked into his with startling eagerness ; he 
could hardly bear to meet them. She 
stretched out a thin, trembling hand ; it 
might have been thought that the secret was 

"At last!" she said. "Oh, this long, 
weary waiting. Why did you not come when 
you promised ? " 

He did not understand. 

" I did not know you were ill/' he said, 
gently, " or I would have come." 

" I was not ill then ; it was the suspense, 
the waiting made me ill, because I had 
something to tell you ; every day was torture. 
Thank God, it is not too late. I think 
you will forgive." 

" What can I have to forgive ? " he said. 
" What— that you could do ? " 

She had raised herself a little in her eager- 
ness ; now she fell back upon her pillows and 
closed her eyes. 

" After all," she said, " it was only that I 
believed in you, trusted you, acted up to my 
promise. Let me tell you from the beginning 
—I never dared to tell Philip." 

" Tell me — anything — do not be afraid." 

Her eyes were wide open again — gazing at 
him with an anxious, feverish gaze. He 

Vol. XL — 37. 

Digitized by L^OOglC 

leaned forward, shielding his face with his 
hand, he scarcely knew what he feared. 

"You know," she said, "you made me 
promise to turn to you if I ever needed a 

" Yes." 

"Well, the time came sooner than I 
thought Philip wanted money — £i$o — if 
he could not have it we were ruined ; he 
owed it to a man who threatened to speak to 
Mr. Masham. I said I would go and ask 
Uncle Dick to help, and I went." 

" And he gave you the money ? " 

Lucas spoke eagerly. 

" I never even saw him ; he was gone to 
Normandy for three months. I came back 
the next morning " 

"In the afternoon, you mean ? " 

" No, early. Philip had gone to the office ; 
no one saw me come in. I was wild with 
trouble. I got out my cheque-book — you 
know I used to have some money in the 
London and Surrey, Uncle Dick's bank 
and yours — I knew you banked there — 
I wrote a cheque — I wrote it in your name 
to see how it would look first ; I had some 
of your letters — it was quite easy to copy 
your writing. Then I thought it was only 
keeping my promise, that you would wish me 
to do it. I made the cheque payable to Philip 
to avoid talk, and indorsed it. Then I went 
out to the bank — they gave me the money ; I 
gave it all to Philip — every penny, and I lied 
to him — told him Uncle Dick had given it to 
me. He would hear nothing for three months, 
then I should have made it right with you. 
I dared not tell him before. I trusted you 

— you Why do you not look at 

me ? " Her voice rose with weak anguish 
of entreaty. 

" Would to God I had come ! " said Raynor 
at last. 

"What is the matter? Has anything 
happened— oh ! has anything happened to 
Philip ? What have I done ? You have let 
them harm Philip ! " 

" Hush, Rosamond, you will kill yourself. 
It shall be righted, I swear that it shall be 
righted ; but, for your own sake, how could 
you do this thing ? " 

She was sobbing hysterically. Raynor was 
unnerved ; he felt that he must gain time to 
think and to act Fortunately, Lady Mary 
came in, alarmed by the sound of Rosamond's 

"Get her to tell you the truth," said 

Raynor, pointing to the weeping woman. 

" Reassure her as well as you can ; tell her I 

will do my utmost." 

^Original from 







(t I know the truth/' said I*idy Mary; 
4 *may God help us ! ?J 

Raynor went out and walked rapidly 
through the Park and down Piccadilly, 
The blow had been sharp and bitter, 
rather to his own hopes and his own 
pride than to any icltr:il he had formed 
of Rosamond. Had the revelation been 
made to him in the first instance, he 
would have condoned it unhesitatingly. He 
Cursed his own folly for not having waited. 
What use he might have made of the power 
her secret would have put into his hands he 
was not prepared to say — he habitually 
evaded questions that put intention to the 
test But it remained certain that he had 
exalted Philip under the impression that he 
was exposing his criminal weakness. That 
was sufficiently bitter, and it was also a ques- 
tion how he was to be righted without exposing 
Rosamond, and giving publicity to the whole 

Raynor could only take the error upon 
himself, acknowledge the signature, and 
make a fool of himself in that way. It was 
certain now that, if he did not act, Rosa- 
mond would. 

Before he reached the Circus he felt there 
was no escape, and with the determination of 
getting a had thing over he commenced 
action at once. The story by which he 
accounted to the bank for his sudden recog- 
nition of his own signature was never clearly 
made public, but before long it became 


known that Philip I^ethbridge was liberated 
on bail j the principal security being offered 
by Raynor himself, and later that trje charge 
was withdrawn. So far the matter was not 
one of great difficulty ; the managers had no 
interest in incurring further expenses, or in 
prosecuting inquiry into an affair from which 
they were not to be the losers, But for a 
time a dread hung over everyone concerned 
that the Treasury might prove less easily 
satisfied and instigate proceedings. Gradually, 
however, Government inaction showed that 
the secret was to remain a secret, and the 
affair was allowed to sink into oblivion. 

For a time various reports found favour — 
some hinted at ultimate collusion between 
Raynor and Lethhridge to shield the woman 
who had presented the cheque ; others 
asserted that the only woman in the case was 
Mrs. I .eth bridge herself — that she had won 
the money through a run of luck at Good- 
wood or the card table, and probably feared 
to tell her husband. Various influences, 
hypnotism and champagne among the 
number, were held accountable for Lucas 
Raynor's extraordinary oblivion of his liabili- 
ties. But, curiously enough, no one thought 
of crediting this girl of twenty with the des- 
perate measure which had been the truth. 
Current reports, however, affected the Leth- 
bridges very slightly, and Raynor bore them 
with stoical indifference. 

Only a few days after Rosamond's con- 
fession, Philip returned to Albemarle Man- 
uriginal from 




sions. Raynor had wired that he was to be 
expected, and Lady Mary had done her best 
to strengthen and prepare Rosamond for the 
meeting. It was some comfort to feel that 
there were no further revelations to be made, 
Philip had known his wife's guilt since the 
night that he had spent by her bedside, and 
heard the repeated cry of her delirium for 
Raynor's presence. So much Lady Mary 
could tell her — why, knowing it, he had 
chosen to bear the full burden of her sin, 
and make no effort to appeal to Raynor's 
forbearance, she left for him to explain, 

It seemed impossible to believe that the 
saddened, haggard -faced man who entered 
his wife's room so noiselessly and stood beside 
her, waiting for her to lift her shamed head, 
could be the Philip I^ethbridge of a short 
eighteen months before. 

Finding that she lay still, trembling and 
sobbing in the bitterness of her grief, not 
daring even to ask his forgiveness, he put his 
arms about her and lifted her to his heart, in 

He felt her cling to him more closely, and 
for the time he was satisfied and said no more. 

Philip Lethbridge lost his position in the 
tea house, but Mr. Beau el ere, Rosamond's 
Uncle Dick, got to the bottom of the story 
through Lady Mary. He felt that the young 
man had been hardly dealt with, and suc- 
ceeded in securing him the agency of an 
estate in Scotland* the property of a friend 
of his own. 

The life was a healthier one for the Letlv 
bridges ; and, as they made no further claim 
upon society, they were allowed to sink into 
peaceful oblivion. 

Raynor also dropped out of their path, 
Rosamond wrote to him a pretty and pathetic 
letter of thanks, and Mr. Beauclerc repaid the 
money ; but that was the smaller part of the 
matter. The zest and interest of befriending 
Mrs. Lethbridge had collapsed somewhat 
abruptly, and for nearly a year an increase of 
cynicism surges tud that the demise had 
scarcely been painless. 


the strong clasp of a man who has suffered 
for the thing he loves, and gathered through 
his suffering the completion of strength. 

"Love," he said, presently, u tell me — are 
you content here— in my arms ? Tt 

Then he recovered and married, develop- 
ing into a not u nam table husband ; he 
professed to find a relief in following the 
whims of his wife instead of his own, as she 
could then bear the burden of their futility. 

by Google 

Original from 

Peculiar Children I Have Met, 

By Max GRfxl. 

ROM 1876 to 1S84 I was a 
master of St Paul's School, 
today the foremost classical 
school of England. Whether 
1 should boast of it or not, I 
do not know. 
In England, the schoolmaster stands about 
on the lowest step of the social ladder, and 
even if he be the master of one of the great 
public schools, he obtains practically the 
same recognition in society that the poor 
drudge of an usher receives. In France the 
schoolmaster is a professional man of high 
standing, and Alphonse Daudet boasts of 
having been one. Many of our Academicians, 
Ambassadors, and Ministers have been 

In Holland people touch their hats when 
they pass a schoolmaster. In Italy the 
teaching profession is often embraced by the 
members of the nobility, But, in England, to 
have been a schoolmaster is well-nigh having 
a stain on one's 
character ; and 
when an English 
critic, in Great 
Britain or the 
British Colonies, 
has wished to l>e 
particularly offen- 
sive in his re- 
marks about my 
work and myself, 
he has thrown it 
at my face. 

I once asked, 
through the 
English Press, 
" What's the mat- 
ter with school- 
masters? Is there 
any opprobrium 
attached to that 
profession ? If 
so, why ? " 

This brought 
about many an- 
swers. " Charles 
Dickens is the 
cause of it," 
said some. The 



British public saw in Wackford Squeers 
the typical schoolmaster, " Because teach- 
ing is the worst paid of all profession s s " 
replied others- Another reason given was 
that, in the eyes of the public, the school- 
master is a man who canes little boys, which 
is not a very dignified occupation. And so on. 
Well, I consider things from a rather 
French point of view. For eight years of 
my life I was a schoolmaster, and I am 
rather inclined to be proud of it. I was 
happy though a schoolmaster; I received a 
respectable salary ; I never used a cane in 
my life except as a companion in my walks ; 
and felt that I was a useful member of 

I loved my boys, big or small, clever or 
stupid ; they respected me, and, judging from 
the expression of their faces when they 
gathered round me, I believe that their 
respect for me was mingled with affection. 
And if a man has any sense of humour and de- 
lights in studying 
human nature, is 
there in the world 
for him a better 
field of observa- 
tion than the 
schoolroom ? Is 
there anything 
more interesting 
than the struggle 
for victory be- 
tween a man and 
forty or fifty dear 
young boys full 
of life and mis- 

I loved them 
all, and the more 
wicked they 
were the more I 
loved them. I 
never objected 
to any, except 
perhaps the few 
who aimed at 
being perfect, 
especially those 
who succeeded 
in their efforts. 

Original from 


2 'j3 

I must confess, however, to having had a 
weakness for younger hoys. No doubt the 
work was more interesting in the advanced 
classes : hut a room full of boys from eleven 
to twelve or thirteen years of age seldom 
failed to afford me an opportunity to use my 
glasses with profit 

To watch a young rascal using his ingenuity 
to shirk his work or avoid detection of a 
breach of discipline, was a great source of 
amusement to me. To overhear his remarks 
about me ; to listen to his repartees ; to read 
his "essays"; to admire his resolution to do 
his work well by writing the first two lines uf 
his exercise with his best hand, and to realise 
how soon he got tired of 
it by seeing signs of flag- 
ging on the third line ; to 
listen to him swaggering 
about his social standing 
— all that made life worth 

What dear little snobs 
I met who were not 
much over ten years of 
age ! What early train- 
ing they must have had at 
home ! Peculiar children 
are, as a rule, children 
of peculiar fathers and 
mothers — especially 

Once a lady wrote to 
the head- master : — 

" Dear Sir, — It is our 
intention to place our 
boy under your care ; 
but before we do so, we 
should like to know what 
the social standard of 
your school is." 

The head- master was 
equal to the occasion. 
He replied : — 

" Dear Madam, — So 
long as your boy behaves well, and his fees 
are paid regularly, no inquiry will be made 
about his antecedents," 

And it is something worth hearing, that 
swaggering of little English boys about their 
social standing. First the young heirs to titles, 
then the sons of the gentry, the sons of pro- 
fessional men, the sons of merchants, the sons 
of clerks, all these are sets perfectly distinct. 

" I say, what do you think I have heard ?" 
I once overheard a little boy of ten say to a 
young schoolfellow. "You know Brown? 
Well, I have heard to-day that his father 
keeps a store ! " 

Digitized by Google 

last night 


This seemed to take away the breath of 
the other little boy ■ he was staggered, and 
grew pale with amazement. 

li You don't say so ! " he ejaculated. " I 
thought he was a gentleman." And the two 
young society boys separated with a grave, 
high hand-shake, 

I had great admiration for the ingenuity of 
boys with a conscience ; the one, for instance, 
who, when he wa> not quite sure whether it 
was the second or the third exercise he had 
to do, did neither, " for fear of doing the 
wrong one"; the one who did not do his 
work at home, "because grandmamma died 
also the one who explained the 
great number of mis- 
takes to Le found in his 
home-work by pleading, 
Et Papa 747?/ help me," 

I pass over the one 
" who had a bad head- 
ache last night," and 
brought a letter from his 
mother to that effect ; the 
one who did his exer- 
cise, but lost it ; the one 
11 who knew his lesson," 
but could not say it ; 
and many others who 
made excuses that failed 
to "pay," and will never 
have a chance of making 
a living otherwise than 
by honesty —which is the 
easiest way, after alL 

One, however, I can- 
not pass over is that in- 
genious boy who, when 
he is not quite sure 
whether the plural of igal 
is ega/s or egaux^ makes 
a blot of the word's end- 
ing, But what is this 
boy compared to the 
one who, being asked for 
the plural of igal y said "Two gals " ? 

I always objected to mothers' pets. They 
might be exemplary, admirable at home ; 
but in spite of their irreproachable linen 
and their hair parted in the middle, they 
were, as a rule, very objectionable at school 
They had a blind confidence in their mothers, 
and were taught at home never to trust 
anybody else. When you made a statement 
before them, they looked at you suspiciously, 
as much as to say : "I'll ask mother if all 
that is right." 

These mothers would write to me every 
day to explain what geniuses their boys were, 




and how lucky I ought to feel to have to 
deal with them. These letters were full of 
hints on teaching and of advice on the 
subject. Sometimes they contained an in- 
vitation to dinner. Much as you love boys, 
when you have been with them five hours 
a day, you do not rush for invitations to 
meet them at dinner. 

Among my recollections I will give you a 
few translations that show great ingenuity on 
the part of the perpetrators. 

A boy, reading from a play that was 
being translated at sight in class, came across 
the phrase : Calvez-vous, Monsieur. He 
naturally translated this by " Calm yourself, 
sir/ I said to him : "Now, don't you think 
this is a little stiff? Couldn't you give me 
something a little more colloquial ; for 
instance, what you would say yourself in a 
like case ? " 

The boy reflected a few seconds and said : 
" Keep your hair on, old man." 

Another having to translate : Mon frire a 
raison et ma Sieur a tort, came out with : " My 
brother has raisins and my sister has tart." 

Ingenuity that amounts to genius is shown 
in the two following cases : — 

A boy was asked to give the derivation of 
the French word tropique. His answer was : 
"It comes from the French word trop % which 
means too much, heat understood, and i</ue, 
from the Latin hie (here), that is : 'It is too 
hot here.' " 

Another, being asked the origin of the 
word dimanche, answered : " It comes from 
di (twice) and mancher (to eat), because you 
generally have two meals on that day." 

If boys are remarkable in the way they 
put French into English, they are still more 
wonderful in the way they put English into 
French. When they translate French into 
English, they do not use the English that 
serves them to express their thoughts at home 
with their parents, brothers, and sisters, or at 
school with their masters or comrades ; the 
English they us^ is a special article kept for 
the purpose. And when you remark to them 
that there is no sense in what they have 
written, they seem to be of your opinion ; 
but the fault is not with them, it is with the 
French text that has no sense for them. 

When they translate English into French, 
it is with the help of that most treacherous 
friend of boys, the dictionary. When several 
French words are given for one English word, 
the lazy ones take the first, always ; the in- 
different ones take any — one is as good as 
another; the shrewd boys always take the 
last, to make you believe that they have been 

by K: 



carefully through the whole list, and have 
made a choice only after long and mature 

Sometimes they are right ; as a rule they 
are wrong. When they are right, Providence 
alone has to be thanked for it ; and it will be 
so as long as modern languages* are taught 
through the eyes with the help of books, 
instead of being taught through the mouth 
and ears without the help of any books, for 
a couple of years at any rate. 

The home is, no less than the school, a fine 
field of observation. Who could or would 
imagine a home that is not more or less 
ruled by children? Victor Hugo once said 
that he recognised and bowed to one tyranny 
only, that of children ; but " that tyranny," 
he added, " I proclaim." 

Don't talk to me of children who meekly 
knock at the door as if they were afraid 
somebody might hear them. Give me those 
who will soon let you hear another knock if 
the door is not opened at once. These 
know they are wanted at home ; they know 
that the moment they are' in, they will not 
hear you say, " Hush ! hush ! " or " Be quiet, 
you must not make any noise," but will be 
allowed the freedom of the house and not be 
restrained. They know they can say or do 
what they please, and they will tell you all 
their little secrets and become open and 

Never will you see the round faces of these 
little home-rulers grow long and sad. Their 
eyes will beam with joy and happiness. 
Whenever I hear parents complain that their 
children "run" the house, I tell them that it 
is quite right they should. The best-ordered 
houses are ruled by little girls from two to 
five years of age. 

I once arrived in a Washington house at 
half-past seven. I was invited to dinner. 
On entering the hall, I was received by a 
little girl three years old and her brother aged 

The little girl immediately opened her 
arms and offered me a kiss. This done, she 
produced a birthday book, and asked me to 
put my name in it, w r hich, of course, I did 
on the spot When I entered the drawing- 
room, I was told that a few minutes before 
my arrival the following conversation was 
overheard in the hall : — 

" When he comes, I'll ask him for his 
autograph," said the little boy to his sister. 

" He won't give it to you," she replied, 
"but he will give it to me." 

" Why to you, and not to me?" suggested 
the little boy. 

Original from 

Gymnastics in the Army. 

By Charles Knight, 


T is not too much to say that 
the brilliant reputation the 
British Army has attained 
throughout the world, as an 
efficient fighting Force, is due, 
m great part, to the splendidly 
complete and scientific course of gymnastics 
through which every individual recruit is 
required to pass. True, the raw material is 
of the finest* but this does not obviate the 
necessity for careful, persistent handling and 
working Lip towards perfection. 

A wholly extraordinary improvement is 
always noticeable in the "setting-up ,? of the 
men alter they have completed the regulation 
course, which, by the way, extends over a 
period of ten weeks, with compulsory practice 
lasting an hour and a half every day \ this, 
however, is often supplemented — such is the 
enthusiasm of the men— by the voluntary 
attendance of many recruits during the 

Virtually from his enlistment, the recruit 
(who commences drill at the depot of his 
regiment) has ample facilities given him for 
physical exercise in the well-appointed 
military gymnasium ; and the fact that 
elaborately-fitted establishments of this kind 
are now also to be found at all depots, as 
well as at regimental head quarters, is plain 
proof that the authorities are perfectly 
sensible of the immense importance of this 
part of a soldier's training, 

II would be diffi- 
cult, indeed, to find 
a more complete 
military gymnasium 
than that at Park- 
hurst, the present 
station of the 2nd 
Scottish Rifles, 
lately returned from 
India. Here it was 
that I procured my 
phot ogra phs — 
faithful snapshots 
all — together with 
the necessary infor- 
mation, for which I 
am greatly indebted 
to the Regimental 
Chief Instructor, 
Staff - Sergeant 
Skinner. Perhaps 

I should mention that a regular monthly 
inspection takes place in the gymnasium at 

The first reproduction in this article de- 
picts what is known as u escalading practice,' 3 
which I witnessed at the east end of the 
Parkhurst Gymnasium, Here we see a series 
of planks, gin. wide and 1 1 ^ in. thick, built 
on to the wall from floor to ceiling. These 
pitch-pine boards are placed parallel to, but 
at intervals from, one another, in order to 
admit of all the men obtaining a grip and 
foothold. In the picture, ten men are seen 
escalading this wooden wall with apparent 
ease, keeping perfect time with hands and 
feet as, by word of command, they ascend 
what does duty for one of the defences of an 

On being permitted to glance at StafiF- 
Sergeant Skinner's well-kept register book, 
I was surprised to note the amazingly regular 
attendance of all the men— always excepting, 
of course, those who were on the sick-lisL 
The sergeant also called my attention to the 
measurements of the men, taken on joining 
the class, as compared with those registered 
upon their dismissal as efficient, 

u We take their weights on that machine 
yonder," remarked the energetic, painstaking 
officer to me ; "also the measurements of the 
chest, forearm, and upper arm. You will 
note that in every case the ultimate improve- 
ment is more or less striking. Take my last 



Original from 



class. Here you 
see the increase in 
each individual 
weight was 2% lb. ; 
chest, i^in + ; and 
forearm and upper 
arm, %\n. 

u I may say, how- 
ever," added the 
sergeant, u that this 
class was hardly up 
to the average, be- 
cause, for one thing, 
it is exceeded by the 
all - round average 
struck at the end of 
the year/* 

During all the 
exercises which it 
was my privilege to 
witness, I noticed 
that the men were 
continually exhorted 
to keep their bodies 
erect and their chests 

thrown well forward. Immediately opposite 
the esca lading wall, at the other end of the 
building, is an iron bar which extends across 
the entire width of the gymnasium, but of 
which only a section is shown in the second 
photograph here reproduced. In this illustra- 
tion, one rank is scon assisting the other 
above the bar. Presently, by a movement 
termed "right-leg acting," w T hich really means 
the swinging of that limb, together with a 
strong pull of the arms, the men raise them- 
selves to a sitting posture on the bar. 

I was fortunate enough to see the Park- 
hurst men go through many picturesque 


1 mi 1 ,-. -. 


ill v| ACI.E« 

manoeuvres, beginning with the simplest 
exercises upon the parallel bars and going 
on through dumb-bell and Swedish drill 
to jumping, obstacle climbing, escalading, 
and lastly, bayonet 4 * attack and defence M 

At the back of the gymnasium at this place 
is a very large drill-field, and here Sergeant 
Skinner has lately been furnished with a 
series of " obstacles," more or less difficult of 
negotiation, and altogether constituting a 
very novel and desirable addition to the more 
ordinary apparatus within the building itself. 
The first of these consists of the half of a tree- 
trunk, placed liori- 
* zontally about 3ft 
from the ground, 
and this the men 
are required to clear 
without touching. 
In the next illustra- 
tion given the men 
are seen negotiating 
a similarly con- 
structed obstacle, 
fixed about 4ft, 6in, 
above the ground. 
It will be seen that 
in this instance they 
are allowed to use 
one hand, and have 
a run of about 30 
yards. Hie man "at 
the far u end of this 




2 99 


obstacle h a recruit of whom great things may 
be expected* He ran with the rest, but made 
cart fully for the far end of the obstacle, 
where he placed his right hand and then 
vaulted easily over something like four feet of 
wintry atmosphere, Behind will be seen a 
belated individual who probably came to 
grief over the first tree-trunk. 

Still advancing, the panting pupils are 
presently confronted by the bridge - like 
structure shown in this picture. There is a 
bit of the tight-rope business about this, and 
for some of the men it becomes a veritable 
pons asinorum* As a fact, the men have to 
walk across on split tree-trunks, of which the 
convex bark- 
less part is 
When I took 
tMs photo- 
graph these 
recruits had 
already re- 
ceived four 
weeks 1 training, 
and yet their 
frantic endea- 
vours to accom- 
plish this slip- 
pery peregrina- 
tion reminded 
me forcibly of 
the scene on 
certain festive 
occasions when 
eager rustics 

attempted to negotiate a horizontal greasy 
pole, in the hope of winning an indifferent 
joint, or a purse containing a wholly inade- 
quate sum. In this illustration it will be 
seen that one recruit has fallen through — 
gone under, in fact ; yet his fellows are 
so intent on looking after themselves that 
no hand is outstretched to help the man 
below, who, no doubt, is wondering where 
he is, and how he got there. Wherein is a 
moral which need not be dwelt upon here. 

Now consider attentively the next photo- 
graph reproduced in this article. The brave 
fellows have left behind them what we may 
call the recruits' Rubicon, and have advanced 






firmly, though 
in sadly de- 
pleted num- 
bers, towards 
the next ob- 
stacle, a real- 
istic water- 
jump, lacking 
only water, 
Again, note 
the scramble 
for the far end. 
It is very ques- 
tionable, in- 
deed, whether 
these energetic 
fellows would 
come on with 
such a show of energy 
if it were possible to 
get a dismal ducking 
in the event of a short 
JLinip. Ho we ver , they 
cleared the thing in 
grand form, and ad- 
vanced as one man 
upon the last and most 
formidable obstacle, 
which is shown in the 
accompanying illus- 
tration. Tins repre- 
sents a solid wall 
rather more than 8ft, 
in height, and with no 
foothold worth men- 
tioning. In the photo- 
graph the right files 
of the squad are being 
helped up by their 
comrades below, and 

then, on being pretty firmly 
established on the top, they 
extend a strong helping 
hand to the left files below. 
The expression, b 'a strong 
helping hand," is mild and 
euphonious, I regret to say 
that that same hand is 
almost invariably applied to 
the scruff of the neck of the 
man who is to be helped up. 
Naturally, then, there is con- 
siderable competition as to 
who shall be first to sit 
astride the wall, for clearly 
it is not a pleasant thing to 
be dragged up by the neck, 
or even by the hair, on to a 
wall 8ft, high. 

"Kacilis Des- 
census.*' This 
picture shows 
all the recruits 
leaping down 
the other side 
of the last ob- 
stacle with 
evident relish. 
Of course, the 
only thing to 
be avoided in 
this case is 
reaching the 
ground too 
soon, when, 
probably, a 





Pfc' J' /Mr ■ jH^. ' 

'**~^ iiJ« 

k i i 

K\£KC[hli FUJI Kl'KK.MiriJtMMi+Tllfc AhMS 

companion will incontinently descend upon 
your neck. The men are now supposed to 
have entered, after a series of vicissitudes 
and more or less exciting adventures, into a 
thoroughly well-protected position ; and a 
more practical piece of work than the whole 
of this obstacle business could not possibly 
Ihl- devised as a part of the recruit's in- 

After a brief rest, the full squad went 
through the dumb-bell exercises, this being 
the merest child's piny after the t4 up hill and 
down dale" career they had just completed. 
The standing exercises with dumb bells 
held in each hand are mainly designed 
to strengthen the recruit's arms. These 
are very varied, but I imagine it would 
be difficult to arrange any exercise better 
calculated to 
strengthen the 
arms than the 
one shown in 
the next repro- 
duction. The 
men all appear to 
be looking anx- 
iously ahead, 
probably awaiting 
the command to 
assume another 
posture ; for this 
kind of thing is 
not p leasan t, 
especially if the 
man in fro n 1 
extends himself 
at great length 
and places his 
feet upon the 

hands of the recruit behind him. It is 
equally obvious that the most advantageous 
position during these exercises — as also 
during a reai 3 lively battle — is in the rear 

In the next illustration the recruits are laid 
out as dead men. They are very much alive, 
however, and are provided with dumb-bells, 
which, while in this prostrate position, they 
manipulate in such a way as to strengthen 
the stomach* Here, again, there is some 
risk of the dumb-bell slipping from the grasp 
of one man and alighting upon the nose of 
his fellow- It is an interesting fact, too ? by 
the way, that the powers that be are indebted 
to that renowned il strong man/' Sandow, for 
their present system of dumb-bell exercise. 
For it is well known that Sandow's re:illv 





enormous strength was mainly developed by 
persistent practice with these weights. 

The next photograph depicts the men in a 
sitting posture, manipulating the dumb-bells 


in such a way as to strengthen the muscles of 
the back. The Swedish drill, with its endless 
variety of exercises, is now compulsory at 
least twice a week, since it works beneficially 
all the muscles of the body. Some of these 
positions are so quaint and so picturesque 

my photographs is quaint, even if it is not 
picturesque. The men are not performing a 
grotesque dance, they are merely going 
through an exercise for bending and stretch- 
ing the legs. 

Having com- 
pleted for me the 
last exercise, the 
men retired to pre- 
pare for the bayonet 
practice; and they 
presently reappear- 
ed rather curiously 
attired in grotesque 
costumes, much to 
the delight of the 
small fry from the 
14 married quarters/' 
For in order to 
obviate all possi- 
bility of accident 
to the recruits, their 
heads are encased 
in a large and very 
strong wire-fronted 
mask ; the body is 
protected by a well- 
padded canvas 
jacket, and stout gauntlets are also worn. 
Moreover, large safety buttons are affixed to 
the points of the weapons. 

I will not stay to dwell upon the bayonet 
practice, which must be familiar to almost 
every reader; rather will I pass to the more 


that I can only regret the limit on my space 
which prevents the insertion 6f many other 
interesting pictures. 

Now the above reproduction from one of 

ornate and difficult feats performed by the 
gymnasts at Parkhurst where, although 
having only one regiment on which to draw 
for crack atHWttflpPHtfifflibecI an exhibition 




which could not be 
surpassed, even at 

The accompanying 
illustration shows in 
progress a very diffi- 
cult feat known as 
"the one - armed 
plant/' This is per- 
formed on the parallel 
hars 3 and I need 
hardly say it is only 
accomplished by the 

Next is shown a 


very effective "fountain group/' also formed 
on the parallel bars. This sort of thing is 

obviously calculated 
to strengthen and 
harden the muscles, 
to induce supple- 
ness, and to inspire 
the men with con- 
fidence in them- 

In the last picture 
my genial informer^ 
St a ff-S ergea n t Skin- 
ner, is seen leaving 
the horizontal bar 
by a back somer- 
sault. It would 
also be a thoroughly 
e xped i 1 1 ou s way of 
leaving this life, were 
it not for the stout 
mattresses that are 
placed ready for the reception of the gallant 
sergeant on his return to ttrra-firma* 


by GoOglc 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different limes of their Lives. 


G.M.S.L, G.M.LE. 

Horn 1849* 

ictor Alex- 
ander UkUCE, 
ninth Earl of 
Elgin and Kin- 
cardine, Gover- 
nor-General of India, 

First Treasurer 
of the House- 
hold and First 
of Works in Mr. 
Gladstone's third 
in 1886. He 
is a University 
Commissioner of 
Scotland, and 
Lord Lieutenant 
of Fife. He was 
appointed Gover- 
nor - General of 
India in 1893, 
and on January 
27 th, 1894, as- 
sumed office as 
Viceroy, Lord 
Elgin is the grandson of the Earl of 
El^in whose name will for ever be linked 
with his discoveries of ancient marbles, 
to which reference is made in our article 
on u The Romance of the Museums." 
Lord Elgin's health has given consider- 
able anxiety to bis friends lately, and 
his medical advisers have ordered him 
away from Bombay for a time, when it is 
hoped that a change of climate will soon 
restore him to his former excellent health. 

From a Photo, by 

Jtthn id want*, 

JJffds f'ark CVjJw. 

LL.D., G.M.S.L, 
G.M.I.E., suc- 
ceeded his father 
in 1863, who was 
Viceroy and 
Governor-General of India in 1862-3. He was 
educated at Eton and Balliol College) Oxford, 
where he took his M.A. degree in 1877* The 
University of St Andrews conferred the 
LL.D, degree upon him in 1886. He was 





Scotland Dr. Jameson was persuaded by 
Mr. Cecil Rhodes to enter the sen ice of the 
Chartered Company, He was at the head of 
affairs in Mashonaland during the Matabele 
campaign. When the raids of the Matabele 
had become intolerable, he was asked to 

AGE lO* 

Frtmv <i rS / oit>. bj The Lambm iSch&tl of PKoUnff^phsf, 

Born 1853. 

$&$ JAMESON, C + B M of South 


!'■ [^//- African fame, was educated 

ffi&jbA 1 ! for the medical profession. 

In the early seventies he 

From « Phufa M ACE 30. U- Trim* South Afrwr- 

" settle once for all the Matabele question,' 1 
and when the enemy fired on the white 
police near Fort Victoria, he was ordered 
by the High Commissioner to take all 
the necessary steps for the protection of 
the interests and lives of those under his 
command. Dr. Jameson was made a CR 
in 1894, His recent action in the Transvaal 
gives these portraits a peculiar interest, 

^ilHHlllffllliBllllllllIIIMJIIWIIIIIIIIlil! Jinil li'll W 1 1|! : !iir'iill!lilllJllllilllil;'ili 'I- ■ 

reached the diamond fields, and quickly 

*Yom a Photo- &*] AGF» 30* 

|£tturf!<f Fry, 

acquired a high professional reputation, 
"Camp fever" was prevalent, and Dr. 
Jameson proved most successful in his 
treatment of it. When about to return to 

Vt,l si - 39. 

Iiiiiiii1.11 111 mil 1 

Frwti a] 

UHI i 

; :ir am inn Willi in '" 1 • 
r\T5FWlCHKAN ^^ 



Poet Laureate. Boxy 1835. 

ALFRED AUSTIN, poet, critic, 
and journalist, took his degree at 
the University of London in 1S53, 
and in 1857 was called to the 
Bar of the Inner Temple. But the 
publication, though anonymously, of a poem 
called " Randolph," at the age of eighteen, 

Ftxtm a Phutu. hi 

AGE 36 


showed the bent of his disposition to devote 
his life mainly to literature, In 1861 he 
quitted the Northern Circuit and went to 
Italy. His first acknowledged volume of 
verse, "The Season : a Satire/' appeared in 

1 36k His other poetical productions are: 
"The Human Tragedy: a Poem/' 1H62 ; 
"The Golden Age : a Satire,'" 1871 ; " Inter- 
ludes/' 1872; "The Tower of Babel/ a 
drama, 1874; " Savonarola/' a tragedy, 1 88 1 ; 
"At the Gate of the Convent," " Love's 

fYuttur Photo. t-o\ 


W i d o w hood f and Other Foe m s / J ** Pr inw 
Lucifer/* and " English Lyrics/' all published 
between the years 1881 and 1890. He has 
produced three novels, and has written much 
for the Standard and for the Quarterly 
RrL>icii\ while his political writings are well 
known. In 1892, Messrs. Macmillan issued 
a collected edition of his poems > since which 
time they have published " Lortunatus the 
Pessimist/' " England's Darling, and Other 
Poems/' and a prose work, entitled "The 
Garden that I Love/' Mr. Austin was ap- 
pointed Poet laureate in January of this year. 




J I hutofffttt^i. 

Fr ■ /"'■.■'•' '■ 

A-. I, J. 

[/-'fltt.JV* Yuri: 


not only a singer of the first rank, 
with a voice full of feeling, but she 
is an admirable actress. Although 
born and bred in New York, both 

her parents are French. To her mother, 

Madame Eugenie tie 

Lussan, she owes 

her lyric talent and 

education. She came 

to London in 1888, 

and sang the part of 

Carmen at Coven t 

Garden, and with 

such success that she 

was at once engaged 

for the coming sea 

son* In 18891 s ' lc 

made her first ap- 
pearance at Her 

Majesty's Theatre, 

under Colonel 

Mapleson's manage- 
ment, as Marguerite. 

The beauty of her 

voice, the eh arm of 

her acting, togetluT 

with her youth and 

good looks, at once 

made her a favourite 

with the British pub- 
lic. Over 500 times 

has she played 

Frtritl ti Phudt. bff Ann* lHipimt,'&t>v! 

a*;e 17. 

Fmtrt n Photo, by 
H*u-kwi**i+ A'?k" York, 

Carmen 1 in English, 
French, and Italian* 
Mile* de Lussan has 
had the honour of 
appearing 1 ri opera 
before Her Majesty 
at Balmoral and 
Windsor Castle as 
Marie, in " The 
Da u gin er of the 
Regime ni ? ; Dec. 
3rd* 1 Si) 2 , as Carmen j 
and again in 1893, as 
Ztrlimi in (l Fia Dia- 
volo," At the time 
of writing, Mile, de 
Lussan delights the 
select spectators who 
jxitronize the Carl 
rg©sa w Company at 
" Ml LBta^fil matinees. 

The Palaces and Siahies of the German Emperor, 

By Mary Spencer-Warren. 

jggjE gar 

HETR Imperial Majesties the 
Kmperor and Empress of Ger- 
many have graciously given me 
special permission to see their 
various pa laces on behalf of 
the readers of The Strand 

Magazine; and as nearly everyone is in- 
terested in the son and daughter-in-law of 

our Princess Royal, some account of their 

home may be welcome. 

When, owing to the untimely death of 

the Emperor Frederick, the Crown Prince 

William ascended the throne, various and 

conflicting were the prognostications as to 

the course he would pursue and the future 

of his country* All this 

is fresh in most memories, 

and you know just how 

these prophecies have been 

fulfilled. Germany is still 

at peace, and however 

much of a martinet the 

Emperor is with his 

troops ^ he has not yet sent 

them offensively into his 

neighbours country. 

He is certainly every 

inch of a soldier himself, 

and though I have seen 

him many times, yet only 

on one occasion has he 

been out of regimentals. 

In spite of the weakness 

of one arm, he makes a 

fine figure on horseback, 

riding always animals spe- 
cially trained to answer to 

knee pressure, as one hand 

is, of course, generally 

wanted for carrying his 

s w ord, He r i d es e x t re m e I y 

well ; swims and fences ; 

is a first-rate yachtsman; 

and is, indeed, an adept in 

most outdoor exercises. 

Plain living suits him best, 

his tastes in that direction 

being altogether simple. 

One of his hobbies — and 

he has several- is collect- 
ing autographs Another 

is music, He sings, and 

plays the violin, which in- 

strument he learned, when away from home, 
to surprise and please his father. Some of 
his compositions are in print ; notably a song 
which was lately given at a Berlin concert, 
and which has been much written of 
Another of his hobbies is being photographed ; 
and it is said he has a keen eye for position, 

The Empress is tall, fair, and healthy -look- 
ing, with a very kind aspect that insensibly 
attracts those with whom she comes in contact. 
Though domesticated, fond of home life, and 
a devoted mother, she is none the less an 
Empress, and can fully enter into all State and 
political affairs, possessing a tentative memory 
and a quick perception. At the same time, 

^' TH ™Vl[MW.MaF 

1 M . 





Her Majesty prefers to leave these questions 
to those who make it their business. 

The children — six boys and one girl — have 
all nice faces, and the eldest ones are reputed 
to be clever in their studies. Three of them 
are nearly always in uniform, and it is good 
to see them exercising with their regiment 

The Crown Prince is gifted in a more than 
ordinary manner, is a good musician and 
linguist, and quite as enthusiastic a soldier us 
is his Imperial father, 

I have journeyed to Berlin, and am wend- 
ing my way along the famous Unter den 
Linden, a place of many palaces. Indeed, 
so numerous are they, that I find some must 
be altogether omitted, and others must be 
only briefly mentioned. Taking them as I 
come to them, the palace of the late Emperor 
William I. is first, situated on the right-hand 
side of the famous thoroughfare above 

This palace is of a comparative modern 

date, being erected 
from 1834-1836. 
It is small and 
plain-looking, with 
a freestone ex- 
terior, a portico 
e n t ra n ce s u pi sorted 
by plain columns ; 
the side exterior 
having a balcony 
resting on four 
columns. Looking 
at the front, the 
end window on 
the left of the por- 
tico is the famous 
historical one, 
where the Kni- 
peror was in the 
habit of daily tak- 
ing up his position, 
to watch the troops 
as they marched 
to and from bar- 
racks and guard- 
house i n the 
vicinity \ and in 
this room he habit- 
ually sat engaged 
in State and other 

Now I go to 
the principal room 
of the palace, 
namely, the one 
I have pointed out 
to you on the ex- 
terior view. To 
attempt anything 
like a description 
of the contents of 
this apartment 
would be alto- 
gether impossible, 
so crowded is it 
with articles of 
every fashion, 
[fHGAfeny, without 



doubt, have been 
presents from person- 
ages of celebrity, for 
they are very costly 
and beautiful, The 
walls, covered in blue, 
are hung with a fine 
collection of oil paint- 
ings and portraits of 
Royalties- Very 
evidently the warlike 
Emperor was some- 
thing more than a 
soldier; the paintings 
which he had gathered 
round him speak the 
cult i v:i ted artist. 
Some of the portraits 
are, of course, mem- 
bers of the (ierman 
1 mperial family, 
prominent and chief 
amongst them being 
the two or three of 
the Empress. Augusta, 
taken at different 
periods of her life. 
Here is the late 
Kaiser's chair in front 
of the writing-table 
where he spent so 

many busy hours. On it lie the pens, paper- 
weights, paper knives, etc, which he had used, 
left just as they were when he last got up 
from the chair. At the back of the table 
stands a marble bust of Frederick the Cireat, 
the predecessor he had so much admired, 
and had perhaps insensibly copied. These 

two Emperors have 
formed conspicuous 
figures in German 
history, each having 
done more than any 
other ruler to advance 
the interests and wel- 
fare of the country 
and the people over 
whom they reigned. 
Marble busts are in 
all directions of the 
room, as w* Has bronze 
military figures. In 
one corner, in a stand, 
is a collection of 
walking sticks used by 
the Emperor ; on a 
table is seen his Bible 
and Church Service ; 
here are albums full 
of portraits, also a 
large number of the 
latter in various post- 
tions on every table 
and inserted in 
screens. There are 
many vases and can- 
delabra of exquisitely 
carved marble, also 
several beautiful mar- 
ble and bronze timepieces of delicate work man- 
ship. The principal furniture of the room is 
carved, and upholstered in blue. I noticed 
as I stood at the window from which the 
Emperor daily looked out, how the carpet 
was worn just in the one place which he had 
occupied ; and standing here, one cannot help 

CRtnv\ ,±'RiNi:t (ivilliam). 
Fn*m a Plwto. fry Sell*: d Kutth*, i\}i#iunt. 

l'i\ftt* n j'ht*t>*. i'ff] 

p nnn I Original from __ . _ - 



Fmmtt Fhrt ■ h*i\ 


I llarv Sjitncer- ir«i*mi. 

recalling the time just previous tu bis death : 
how, up to the last, when he could no longer 
stand, he sat at this window, watching as 
usual his troops defile past, and the thousands 
of people who came silently up just to gaze — 
many of them for the last time — upon the 
Emperor they so much revered, and then 
went away again as silently as they came. 
The whole place is full of reminiscences of 
a mournful period in the history of the 

leaving this palace, and pas-iini; that of 

the Empress Frederick, we come to the old 
palace in the Lustgarten. This is a magni- 
ficent pile of buildings, in the form of a 
rectangle, between 6ooft. and 700ft. in 
length, and about 400ft. in depth ; it is four 
stories high, with a large dome about 230ft. 
ill height 

One of the most beautiful of its rooms 
perhaps is the *' Ritter saal," or old Throne 
S<oonij the rococo embellishments of which 
are gorgeous in the extreme. The ceiling 
is by Wen/el, the reliefs, consisting of 

Ft vwi m i*hvt i. fryj 

3' 2 


allegorical groups of the four quarters of 
the globe — which are over the side doors — 
are by Schliiten The centre door has 
over it some very beautiful caning which 
must not be omitted. Above it is a gallery 
which was formerly of solid silver. From 
the ceiling depends a large chandelier of 
pure rock crystal brought hither from the 
Reichstag Room at Worm s. Beneath this 
chandelier, then, Luther had formerly stood. 
At one end of the room stands a large State 
sideboard made in Augsburg. It is profusely 
decorated, and has on it a quantity of massive 

case t are some boxes for guests and musicians 
respecti%'ely ; under one arcade is a beautiful 
Carrara marble statue by Rauch> and in the 
vaulting you will note allegorical figures 
relating to the original Prussian provinces* 
Around the room are twelve pedestals, carry- 
ing marble busts of the Bradenburg Electors. 

The palaces of Potsdam have been built 
more especially for summer residences of the 
reigning Sovereigns. Potsdam itself lies 
some considerable distance from the capital, 
and thither I take train early one morning. 
There are several palaces, some of which 

From il l J Itt*t>- Uti 


[ Hui'it Sfttwtr- \t'arr t*,. 

plate, glass, tankards, and candlesticks; also 
a large drinking cup from the smoking-room 
of Frederick William I. On one side of the 
accompanying photograph you will notice a 
tall column some 8ft. in height, mounted on 
a granite pedestal : the monument is of pure 
silver, and was presented by the officers of 
the Army and Navy to the Emperor William 
in 1867, being the sixtieth anniversary of his 
admission to the Army. 

The White Saloon is said to be the 
largest and most beautiful in the whole 
palace. It is used for the most important of 
the Court festivals and at the opening of the 
Reichstag; nearly 3,000 candles light up its 
beauties ; the dimensions nf it are 82ft, by 
50ft — 40ft. in height. It has two arcades ; 
at one side of it, and approached by a stair- 

owe their origin to Frederick the Great, and 
it was during his residence that much of the 
town itself was built. Arrived at the station,. 
I make my way to the palace, Sans SoucL 
The approach to this is picturesque in the 
extreme ; it is situated on a lofty height 
approached by avenues and winding paths, 
which culminate at the yrcat fountain, with 
its large basin, having twelve statuary figures 
surrounding it. This palace was erected in 
the year 1745, from plans made by Frederick 
the Great himself. It is reputed to be one 
of the most interesting palaces in Germany. 
Here he spent very much of his time, and 
here he died. As you know, Frederick the 
Great was something more than a soldier ; 
and in the German palaces one frequently 
comes aCTpss. evidences of his various talents. 




Fnnn a Photo. hy\ 


[Jfttry Upenter-Wttrrcit, 

One of these talents, and a conspicuous one, 
was music. In his music-room stands the old 
spinet on which he used to play ; near it 
being a tortoise-shell music-stand, on it being 
a piece of music which he had written him- 
self, set for the flute- On the other side of 
the room still stands a box in green and gold 
relief, which he used to keep his music in + 

Another interesting article in the room is a 
clock, which he had always been particular 
about winding up himself: this clock, it is 
said, stopped at the exact moment at which 
he died. The room is capacious, has a very 
good artistic ceiling, with paintings of flowers, 
fruit, birds, animals, etc, with cherubs and 
wreaths in gold relief. On the walls are also 

Frvm a Photo* bv\ 
Vol. *i. 40, 







From a Photo, by Mary Spc*c§r- Warren 

some fine panel paintings, set in gilded 
frames, Curtains and upholstery are all in 
blue silk : the ornaments and vases are many 
of them Sfcvres- Cabinets and tables are 
antique, some with mosaic tops. 

The New Palace is barely a mile away : it 
was founded by Frederick after the Seven 
Years' War, and cost him no less than 
^750,000. During the summer months the 
Emperor and Empress are much in residence 

Then there is the Marble Palace, which 
was erected by Frederick William II., who 
also died here in 1797* Also the Chateau 
of Babelsberg, which is quite an English- 

looking Gothic 
building ; this was 
a favourite re- 
sidence of the 
late Emperor 
William I., and 
here may be seen 
many memorials of 
his battles. 

All of these 
Potsdam palaces 
are most charm- 
ingly situated; near 
enough to Berlin 
to be able to go 
readily to and fro, 
but far enough 
away for seclusion 
and pure country 
air. It is quite a 
usual thing for the 
Emperor and Em- 
press to be seen 
riding out t through 
the leafy woods and along the country roads, 
practically unattended. This, indeed, is their 
invariable habit quite early in the morning, 
returning the one to State duties, the other 
to her children— for the German Empress is 
above all things a model mother, and I heard 
a story of how a dress with a magnificent 
train was once shown the Emperor when he 
visited some famous emporium, with a 
suggestion that he should purchase it for 
Her Majesty. 

" No,"' was his answer ; l( that train would 
get torn to pieces in no time, for my wife 
always has three or four youngsters clinging 
to her skirts." 

From u i'huKv. 6yJ 


*wcr- fr'arrat. 


3> 5 

Frutti a 1'hifUf. ?j^I 


[Mar? tifKtictr- l^umn, 

By Charles S. Pelham-Clinton, 

HE Royal stables at Berlin are 
situated about a hundred yards 
from the palace in the Briete 
Strasse, and are of consider- 
able antiquity, some parts of 
the buildings being as many 
as 300 years old. Everything is directly 
under the actual supervision of the Master 
of the Horse, Count Vedel, to whose kind- 
ness I owe all the information given me. 

At right angles to the main building are the 
stables wherein the black stallions that are in 
daily use are kept No mares are used here 
at all, only stallions, the marts being all kept 
at Potsdam. They are bred at '1 rakehnen, 
close to the Russian frontier, and the race is 
now almost pure. Several hundreds are bred 
each year, and the best weeded out for the 
Royal service, those not required being 
sold ; the stallions, however, are converted 
into geldings before being sold, the idea, 
I suppose, being to keep the breed rather 

They are an active breed of horse, show- 
ing a good deal of quality, but not much 
size ; still, they are quite large enough for 
what is wanted of them, and big enough not 
to be dwarfed by the gala carriages. The 
uniformity of colour is undoubtedly good, 
and the black, glossy coats set off the silver- 
mounted harness* As a rule these black 
stallions have not got extraordinary action, 
but they pick their feet up nicely, and can 

go a rare pace, besides being able to keep it 
Up for a journey. 

The first stable has eightand-twenty stalls 
and two boxes, and is pa\ed with brick. The 
top part of the walls is tiled with neat white 
and blue tiles, and above each horse is the 
name of sire and dam and the place where ;t 
was bred, with the height and also the year 
when foaled. 

The night clothing consists of ordinary 
striped rugs, and the day clothing of dark blue 
edited with yellow and red. Each rug has a 
crown at the corners in red and the initials 
WAV., and a red and gold crown tops each 
pillar. The stablemen's livery is very neat, 
and when *' stables " are over and everything 
cleaned up, they turn out in a plain red jacket 
and white apron over their cord breeches. 

The* next stable is really a continuation of 
the first, and runs the entire length of the 
courtyard, containing in all forty-six stalls. 
Most of these are filled with black stallions, 
but at the further end are whites, that are 
only used by the Emperor himself, and a 
very good-looking lot they are, with good 
carriage, plenty of quality, and excellent style. 
They are sixteen in number, and are bred 
in Trakehnen. On all occasions of State 
the Kmperor uses these whites, and no one 
else is permitted to employ them. The next 
stable faces the first, and is of the same size. 
In it are mpjr^jil^^^i-jand a few bays that 




i^nowi a Ptofo, fey Cfiarkj J'tlAam 'L'KnJon. 


or State carriages are about 
in number, and arc rich and 

a dozen 

The first one shown me was presented 
to the Emperor, on the occasion of his 
marriage, by the Emperor Wilhelm L, and is 
a very graceful and handsome vehicle* It 
is painted dark blue with pale yellow wheels, 
picked out with silver and handsomely carved. 
The main carriage is dark blue, and so is the 
body, relieved by silver scroll-work, and it is 
lined with white satin. The box seat is high, 
and the hammer- 
cloth is of blue 
cloth and silver, 
very handsome 
and effective ; at 
the four corners are 
four silver eagles, 
and above each 
door is a silver 
crown. The silver 
lamps are all four 
surmounted by 
crowns, and the 
carriage is now 
1 used at all ordi- 
nary State occa- 
sions as the State 
carriage, but on 
such State occa- 
sions as a Royal 
wedding or coro- 
nation the State 
coach is used* ;jnii 

The next car- 
riage that came 
under notice was 
that of Frederick 
the Great, built 
in 1 701, a very 
curious and in- 
teresting relic of 
a man who helped 
largely to make 
history, It is plain 
and simple, the 
top being gilt, 
with an ormolu 
rim around it ; at 
the four comers 
hang four red 
tassels, and the 
hammer -cloth is 
of red velvet and 
silver, now, of 
course, much tar- 
nished. The sides 
are, or rather 
were, gilt, and have the arms of Prussia on 
each door and at the back, The under 
carriage, joined by two beams, is plain red, 
picked out with a gold line, and the 
wheels are without any carving, and painted 
red, picked out with gold. The door opens, 
as was the fashion in those days, the opposite 
way to the present fashion, and the lining of 
red velvet is in perfect preservation, though 
a good deal faded. 

Very much more ornate and gorgeous is 
the State coach built at Strasbourg in 1781, 

F rum a I'toAv. bvi 







b'ftiin a. Phuta, by[ 


and used now on great State occasions only. 
It is remarkable for its light, elegant build, 
but at the same time cannot be a comfort- 
able carriage, as it must sway a great deal 
from side to side. The front and back 
portions are connected by two beams 
painted red and gold, and the wheels, 
which are high and light, are plainly 
carved and richly painted with gold and 
crimson. The windows are very curious, 
an oval in the centre and two odd-shaped 
windows at either 
side following the 
lines of the car- 
riage. The steps, 
which fold up in- 
side, are covered 
in satin and 
ermine with a 
gold fringe, It 
is gilt all over, 
and has the Royal 
arms and quarter- 
ings on the doors. 
The hammer- 
cloth is very rich, 
being of red velvet 
and gold fringe, 
with a huge gold 
crown and laurel 
leaves around it 
Around the centre 
window is a mas- 
sive gilt carving, 
and at the four 

comers of the top 
are gilded Prussian 
eagles. The top 
is very handsome, 
having a gilded 
metal scroll -work 
around the out- 
side, with four 
crowns at the cor- 
ners above the 
centre windows, 
while a carved hel- 
met and feathers 
resting on a spear- 
head, a sword and 
laurel leaves, 
occupy the centre, 
the whole being 
gilded. It has no 
brake or skid of 
any kind, the 
wheelers having 
to do all the work. 
While the car- 
riages used by the suite and for general 
Court work are painted blue and are picked 
out with a lighter blue, all those used by 
the Empress or by any members of the 
Royal Family are painted the same blue, 
but are picked out with silver, as in the 
photograph of the Empress's landau* 

The broughams, victorias, and landaus for 
the Royal Family use are all painted exactly 
the same, and are never used by any of the 
suite. The young Princes daily take their 

W. IWtwn Clinton. 

l i'tv&i h;> 

TH *™mmmrw moigait 

\{fu*Ui C.'iriTiJH. 



drive in the park in one of these, and there 
is always a crowd on the Unter den Linden 
and at the entrance of the park to see them 
come in and go out. 

In all, there are about 1 50 carriages at the 
stables in the Breite Strasse, and about 100 
for the suite and for exercising at the other 
stables beyond the palace. 

Even on grand gala days the harness of 
the German Emperor is workmanlike, as he 
does not go in for gorgeous display. There 
is a military simplicity and rigidness about 
this, as about all else in his life, Everything 
is good , the best of its kind, hut nothing is 
made a medium for parade and gaudy trap- 
pings to catch the eye. The horses are good 

The German Royal livery is neat and 
rather peculiar in one or two respects. 

When driving the Emperor or any member 
of the Royal Family, a wide, white corded-silk 
hat-band, with the eagle embroidered in black, 
is worn, and this is taken off when a member 
of the household is being driven, so the public 
can see at a glance whether it is a Royalty or 
not in the carriage. The wide band goes 
on outside the ordinary narrow one. The 
livery is black cloth and silver buttons with 
aigrettes, low-cut collar edged with corded 
white silk embroidered with the eagle as in the 
case of the hat -band, and a band of the 
same round the arm, Black plush breeches 
and gaiters complete the costume. The 

JMfotm a phsiltj, by] 


[C Ptiham-t'itnUin. 

and useful, but are not extravagant steppers ; 
they have to get over the ground, and not 
waste time over the job, and be able to do 
their work and be ready lor another dose 
next day. So with the carriages. There is 
no waste of room in keeping useless vehicles 
for show alone, that of Frederick the Great 
alone excepted, So, also, with the harness. 
The horses have to draw the carriages, and 
quickly ; and if an extravagant amount of 
trappings were added, they would either 
take too long or else succumb ; therefore, 
the harness, while handsome, is light, and 
serviceable for grand State as well as for 
ordinary occasions. 

^iiized by \j OO 9 1 1 

cockade, I should mention, is black and 

The grooms' livery is much the same in 
colour, the collar being differently arranged, 
and a piece of cloth placed above the edging. 

The grand gala livery is a great deal more 
gorgeous, and consists of a blue cloth coatee, 
very heavily braided with gold braid, and a 
waistcoat of the same material, a three- 
cornered hat with feathers, made also of blue 
cloth and gold braid, red plush breeches, 
white stockings and shoes, the effect being 
decidedly good. Most of the men have 
been in the army, but this is not compulsory ; 
almost all have good conduct medals. These 




Kruju tt I'koto. btt\ 


are given in the Royal service in much the 
same manner as in military life. 

The postillions 1 dress is much the same, 
the collar being continued down the jacket, 
which has also a single row of buttons; the 
cap is of black velvet and silver lace. 

On gala occasions the Emperor amj 
Empress frequently drive out in an open 
landau with six black horses, and in the 
summer, at fetes, 
the carriage is 
with Rowers, and 
the servants have 
large bouquets. 
On these occa- 
sions, indeed on 
all State ones, the 
Master of the 
Horse rides di- 
rectly behind the 
Emperor's car- 
riage, and he also 
attends the Em- 
peror when he 
takes his daily 
ride in the after- 
noon. This ride 
is quite a feature 
in Berlin, and 
long before the 
hands of the 
clock get near 
three, people com- 
mence to group 
themselves at the 

ber, the ubiquitous 

doors of the palace 
and at the corners 
of the various 
streets in the Unter 
den Linden, At 
three precisely, the 
Emperor rides out 
and, accompanied 
by the Master 
of the Horse, an 
a idt -de -en mp^ a n d 
one or two others, 
rides slowly down 
the Unter den Lin- 
den into the park, 
where a crowd of 
people line the 
streets and cheer 
him. At the gates 
of the park there is 
a large concourse 
of people, several 
hundred in num- 
small boy in Ger- 

many, as in England, very much in evi- 
dence, and the subject of much attention 
on the part of the rather stolid police- 
men that represent the majesty of the 
law. After a ride of a couple of hours, 
the Emperor returns, the crowds again 
form, and only disperse when he has 
passed. This goes on day by day, and the 



LC, ittfaiJi-L'JuUtui. 



JVu m n J 'koto, if;t\ 


people look upon it as a daily treat and 

The horse the Emperor most frequently 
rides is in colour a rich bay with a wonder- 
fully good head and neck, and, in fact, a 
good-looking one all over. He has the 
most perfect manners I have ever seen, 
and makes the beau ideal of a charger 
to my mind, as he has looks, breeding, 
high courage, and manners. I photo- 
graphed him twice, first placing him in 
the position required, and he stood for at 
least four minutes 
while I was 
getting ready, and 
never moved a 
hair, only watched 
some horses being 
exercised in the 
ring. The Emperor 
brought him over 
to England when 
here last year, and 
he uses him in 
preference to any 
of his stud. 

Another favou- 
rite is a grey, a 
very much better- 
looking horse 
than my photo- 
graph makes him 
out to be, as he 
has a rattling good 
head and neck, 

and is very well 
bred. It is very 
hard to get horses 
to stand with 
an arched neck ; 
and unless they 
do this the expres- 
sion, if I may so 
call it, is spoiled. 
The grey w a s 
of a particularly 
placid tempera- 
ment, and came 
to the conclusion 
that photography 
was a pleasant and 
easy amusement, 
as it gave him the 
opportunity of an 
extra forty winks. 
When mounted 
he is very different, 
and although 
perfect in manners 
has plenty of fire and courage, but he has 
not the carriage of the bay. 

The Crown Prince rides a very good- 
looking chestnut Arab, Ruheil by name, 
presented by the Sultan of Turkey. He is 
a rare compact little chap, and moves his 
white feet like a piece of clockwork, and is 
a great favourite with his master. 

Another one in this stable is the Empress's 
riding-horse, Ziegfried, a chestnut without a 
white hair, and a rare good-looking one as 

LC T . J'dAaw-L'tiHippi- 

fVuin » A^to* k)i\ I I > \^ EMPRESS'S RiPINC-^Hj^^^G^Ep^ 



Gleams from the Dark Con tine tit. 

By Charles J. Mans ford, 


[ the night when this strange 
adventure began, we sat round 
:he ramp fire, listening to 
Hassan, who was telling us a 

For many days we had 
pushed on our way, making for a coast town 
of Morocco, over a waving, shifting sea of 
sand. Waterless, treeless, with scarcely a 
sign of life, save for the sand lizard that 
rustled across the path of the camels* hoofs, 
had that journey been ; many a deceitful 
stretch of mirage had lured us out of our 
way, under a burning sun that sucked up a 
mist of white heat about us as on we went 

Towards afternoon we had entered upon a 
different region, for the low, sandy plain 
gave way to a rocky soil, and soon we reached 
the verdant valley where we were encamped 
for the night 

Round us on every side rose gaunt, 
fantastic mountain peaks, whose frowning 
sides were honeycombed with countless caves 
— hut there was no sign of human life. The 
whole surface of the valley was 
covered with sea-green grass ; 
flowers of every hue sprang up 
beneath our feet ; every scarp 
and crag of the mountains was 
festooned with creepers and 
climbing, blossoming plants, (Had 
were we, indeed, to find such a 
halting-place upon our way. So 
we hobbled the camels and pitched 
the tent, intending to stay in the 
valley for a few days, and to ex- 
plore the caves about us. 

The flicker of the camp fire 
flung lights and shadows upon the 
rocks about, and these, more than 
once, attracted our guide's atten- 

"Sahibs," said Hassan, break- 
ing off in his story, " I saw some- 
thing moving by yonder crag," 

We glanced to where the Arab 
pointed, but no sign of life was 

"Go on with the story, Hassan," 
said Denviers ; " the only living 
thing in this valley besides our- 
selves and the canirls is that 
lizard* I notice , whenever your 
yarns get to a difficult point, 

you always invent some excuse to stop 
and think." 

As he spoke, Denviers pointed to a little 
grey lizard which had crept close to the 
camp fire and was watching us, it seemed, 
with its miniature, star-like eyes- 

"The sahib is as disbelieving as ever, 1 ' 
remonstrated the Arab ; " besides, Hassan, 
his slave, heard something as well" 

I )enviers laughed, 

"What did you hear, Hassan?" 

" Voices," the Arab answered, conclusively, 
"and I will prove that my words are true," 
Hassan rose, and, going to where our rifles 
stood, piled together, he took his own and 
went off in the direction he had indicated. 

A few minutes afterwards our guide came 
stumbling towards the camp fire, carrying 
bodily in his arms a prisoner, who was Strug- 
gling hard to free himself from Hassan's grip. 

We rose hastily from before the camp fire 
and looked in astonishment at the captive, 
whom Hassan had freed, and who stood 
scowling at us. 

The man was a dwarf, his height being not 

Vol. Jti.^41, 



t> K UNIV 






more than four feet ; he wore a white loin- 
cloth, which contrasted with the dark colour 
of his skin ; his hair was tufted and reddish 
in hue ; his features were typically African ; 
his face was round and small, his body being 
well proportioned to the man's height. 

Denviers and I discussed Hassan's capture 
with the Arab, who told us that as soon as 
he came upon the dwarf, the latter had flung 
himself upon our guide with the utmost 
courage, exhibiting a strength far beyond 
what his appearance indicated. 

Hassan then interrogated the dwarf in 
Arabic, who appeared to understand, but 
instead of replying to the Arab, he uttered a 
loud click-like cry, which seemed to be 
answered at once from the mountains around. 

" Look out, Harold ! " cried Denviers, 
snatching up the rifles and thrusting mine 
into my hand. I had hardly seized the 
weapon when I saw, to my astonishment, 
that the face of the cliffs around us swarmed 
with dwarfs. They climbed agilely down the 
rocky walls, issuing from the many caves we 
had seen, and in a few minutes the valley 
was filled with an excited and armed body 
of dwarfs. Our camels were seized and led 
away, while a number of the dwarfs ran 
towards us and attacked us. For a time we 
hesitated to defend ourselves against our 
strange foes, but we soon had to, for our 
lives were in danger from their spear-thrusts. 

Owing to the overwhelming number and 
pertinacity of the dwarfs, we were eventually 
overpowered by them and securely bound. 
We were then dragged away, separately, 
into the caves at the base of the cliff which 
faced westward. 

In my own case, I was hurried through a 
long passage in the mountain side, and then 
up a wide, hewn flight of steps into a second 
gallery. The men who held me as their 
prisoner forced me on by thrusting at me, 
bound as I was, with their spears, until a 
second stairway was reached. At the top of 
the stairway I passed through a winding 
passage, and then abruptly entered a great 
cavern in the mountain. 

The cavern was extremely large and lofty, 
and in it, as I subsequently learnt, all the 
dwarf women and children had been 
assembled. In various parts of the cavern 
were great fires of wood, round which were 
gathered hundreds of armed dwarfs. 

At the far end of the cave, a fire, larger 
than the rjst, shot up its tongue of flame till 
the glare lit up the jagged roof above. On 
the left of this fire, surrounded by his head- 
men, stood the chief of the dwarfs, interrogat- 

Digiiized by Lt« 

ing two captives. When I was led close to 
where the captives were, I found they were 
Denviers and Hassan, who were being closely 
questioned as to our presence in the valley. 
There was a moment's pause as I was placed 
beside my companions. 

I glanced at the chief of the dwarfs 
curiously. He was slightly shorter than the 
dwarf whom Hassan had captured ; his white 
robe, which was caught up under the left 
arm, had a wide strip which passed across the 
right shoulder, leaving the arm bare. The 
garment hung down in graceful folds, and was 
plentifully adorned with various charms. The 
chiefs features did not differ from those of 
the rest of his tribe ; his hair was white with 
age, and he leant upon a spear. 

The whole cave was rich in treasure ; great 
piles of ostrich feathers lay heaped up with 
many other articles of value, while behind 
where the chief of the dwarfs stood rose a 
throne of gold, representing in delicate work- 
manship a succession of ostrich feathers, 
inset with countless glittering gems. 

" Ye are spies of the Marabout's," the chief 
said, in Arabic, to Denviers, as the latter 
attempted to allay, in some degree, the ex- 
citement our presence had caused. 

" W r e do not know of this Marabout, or 
religious leader,'* answered Denviers ; " we 
have been crossing the desert for many days 
and stayed in the valley by chance." 

" Ye are spies ! " the chief insisted ; " day 
and night do we expect the host of the Mara- 
bout. With him is the scabbard, with me 
the sword. When the one shall sheathe the 
sword in the other's body, then shall that one 
own sword and scabbard, too ! Then shall 
the hated Moors be overrun, and the religion 
of Islam be a thing of the past ! " 

A wild light shone in the eyes of the chief 
as he spoke. We could make nothing out of 
his words. Hassan, despite the chief's threat 
against Islam, tried to conciliate him. 

" We are thy friends, not thy foes," said 
Hassan. The chief glanced sharply into the 
Arab's face. 

41 Wilt thou fight for those of my tribe ? " 
he asked. 

" Give us good reason for so doing and we 
will," Denviers answered, in place of the 

" A man has but friends and foes," the 
chief answered : " those who fight for him 
and those who fight against him. Those 
who stand by are enemies — they will join his 
foes should these be victorious ! Swear 
to fight for me and your bonds shall be 
undone, if not -atTrbn'^ lie chief ^ not 



finish his sentence, but pointed with his 
spear to the crimson flame rising high beside 

We talked together for a few minutes dis- 
cussing what answer should be given. It 
was evident we were completely in the power 
of our strange captors, and that fact alone 
influenced our decision. 

" We will fight for you," Denviers 
answered, at last. 

We were compelled 
to swear to do this 1 > v 
each plucking a burn- 
any ember from the fire 
and holding it up in 
the right hand, at the 
same time kneeling 
before the dwarf chief, 
our bonds having been 

t( Come with me," 
said the chief. He 
moved away slowly, 
and following him up 
some wide stone 
stairs, we found our- 
selves in a squared 
chamber of rock. The 
chief flung himself 
upon a couch of skins, 
and then clapped 
his hands, In- 
stantly an atten- 
dant entered, to 
whom the chief gave a (tun 

The man shortly returned 
and, kneeling before the chief, 
held up in both hands a Moorish sword, 
heavily jewelled about the hilt. The 
chief dismissed the attendant, then gave 
us the sword to examine. There was an 
inscription cut into the finely -tempered 
blade; Hassan read it. It ran: u To the 
Wolves of the Atlas. From Iwussa" 

" Rest ye," said the chief, pointing to some 
skins which were spread before him. We 
according reclined there, and the chief, who 
had noticed our curious glances at the sword, 
without commenting thereon, began his 
strange narrative, which was fated to have, 
had we known, a stranger interruption. 


H Friends of the Wolves of the Atlas, listen ! TT 
the chief began. i4 Many are the wise fools 
who have sought us out to learn our history. 
They have talked to the false Moors, and 
learnt by that nothing : they have captured, 

occasionally, one of the men of our tribe 
and tried to wrest from him our secret by 
that they learnt less ! Vet we are a strange 
race — for the land of the Moors was ours 
long before the followers of Islam dwelt in 
it ! We are a people who live in caves, for 
we are sprung from those who lived for cen- 
turies beneath the 
earth. Hear our 
strange story : — 


11 WB WERE C03.1J-EU.KI} H> SWEAR." 

t( In the south of this vast continent 
dwells the race from which we are sprung ; 
the poorest savage among them knows of 
caves with passages, miles in length, leading 
whither few can tell There were three 
chiefs with kraals not far from each other. 
Two were rich in cattle, one old, one young; 
the third was poor, but had a daughter lo 
wed, and she was beautiful beyond all 
women, and loved the chief who was young, 
bidding her father send back the cattle that 
the old chief sent to buy her with. So the 
father gave the girl to the young chief, and 
the lovers' hearts were glad. 

" Sagai, the disappointed chief, whose 
braves were as many as spears of grass beside 
a well, gathered his men. They sharpened 
their spears ; they held the dance of war ; 
when the gloom gathered they stole forth ; 
when dawn broke, shimmering in the east, 
they fell upoflictitaai kraal of the young chief; 




there was spearing and (.rash i tig of shields 
— by nightfall the young chic? had been 
defeated. He fled to the hills, bearing 
with hi ni his young bride and accom- 
panied by a few braves and those women 
of their kraal they had carried away with 

" No rest that night the young chief knew ; 
hour after hour he lay watching the glowing 
embers of the fire they had made in the cave 
wherein they had taken refuge* 

"As the young chief rested by the fire, 
one of his braves drew near and made a 
motion that he would speak. The chief 
hade him open his lips : 

14 £ Tali/ said the young chief, i thou hast 
a stout heart and a true spear, yet art thou 
strange in many ways. Thou art he whom 
the Rainmakers most did hate, for they 
promised things that did not always come to 
pass — thou art the Dreamer, whose dreams 
come ever true ! Open thy lips, and say 
what, even during this night of my trouble, 
thy dream has been! 1 

**And the Dreamer, 
making obeisance to 
the chief, whom he 
loved beyond all 
things else, knelt 
before the fire, and, 
blowing it with his 
breath, made it 
glow white hot He 
glanced at the shapes 
in the glowing embers, 
and held up his hand 
as one who would 
haveanothcrlistcn ; — 

" *A dream I have 
dreamed; and lo! in 
the glowing embers 
I see each part 
of it is true ! 
And this is 
what I dream- 
ed : A young 
chief, beaten 
in battle, but 
victorious in 
love, lay down 
in a cave with 
his followers to 
rest. When 
day dawned, 
the chief knew 
not where to 
go, for his 
kraal was 
burnt, his best 

by Google 


warriors slain, his enemy watched to slay him. 
A long passage ran from the cave, and the 
chief determined to explore it ; he followed 
that strange way, and when at last he and 
those with him emerged, they found them- 
selves in a land beautiful to look upon. 
There the chief grew in power and wealth 
until his followers, who were then many, were 
feared by all They overran the lands 
around, and were masters of every nation 
they thought fit to bring into subjection/ 

**' And who was this chief? ' he asked the 

"* Thyself,* Tali answered. The young 
chief grew thoughtful. For three days after 
Tali's dream they stored what provision they 
could get from the surrounding country ; on 
the fourth they started, holding torches of 
twisted grass in their hands, to explore that 
great passage. 

" Long they wandered, and strange things 
they saw until, at last, they came to a place 
where the passage divided. Whether to go 

to left or right they 
did not know. 
They took the 
wrong way and 
there, under the 
earth, they were 
lost ! Long after, 
they found a gre.u 
orifice through 
which ran a stream; 
there they deter- 
mined to settle, 
their sole food being 
the strange reptiles 
that flitted about 
with bird-like 

passed by; de- 
prived of the light 
of the 
t hey 
fi res 
ing from a forest 
of black, shin- 
ing trees which 
they discovered, 
but their stature 
diminished per- 
ceptibly each 
generation. One 
day, from every 
gap and fissure. 




smoke and vapour, heat, and even columns 
of fire, spurted up about them. Then the 
whole earth seemed to rock and rend. 
When next they remembered aught they 
were above the ground, thrown there by 
some great convulsion of the earth. Some 
were slain by the strange occurrence, others 
wounded ; many were lost altogether. 

"The survivors found themselves in this 
land ; in time they peopled it and became a 
great nation. Then came the Moors, who 
drove them from their possessions to dwell in 
the caves. Already in the mountains dwelt 
a fierce race, the Riffs, and to these, Houssa, 
the great Moor, sent a jewelled scabbard, but 
to us he sent the sword ye have seen. Houssa 
was once the Sultan's favourite, but he fell 
into disgrace. The day before he was bow- 
stringed, he sent these two presents. Gifted 
with prophecy, as are men whom death 
beckons, Houssa declared that if my tribe 
took the scabbard from the Riffs in war and 
sheathed in it the sword, then the Riffs would 
be overcome and henceforth fight on our 
side, so that when we attacked each city of 
the Moslems we should defeat the Moors 
and drive them from the land they once stole 
from us." 

"And I suppose Houssa told the Mara- 
bout, the leader of the Riffs, that if he took 
the sword from you, your tribe would become 
the subject one and help him to conquer the 
Moors ? " asked Denviers. 

" Knowing and tru# are thy words," the 
chief of the dwarfs answered. 

Denviers whispered to me : — 

" It looks as if the Moor meant to get rid 
of both the dwarfs and the Riffs by giving 
them a reason for fighting each other to the 
death ! " 

" I think the Sultan lost a good diploma- 
tist in Houssa, if he did have the fellow bow- 
stringed," I answered, thoughtfully. 

" The Riffs have sworn to take the sword 
from us ; they who cannot scale the outer face 
of the cliffs to the caves, have learnt some other 
way into our stronghold. Just as the valley ye 
entered is surrounded by cliffs, so is the 
greater hollow wherein is our city. The 
caves ye were brought by run through this 
rock which lies between the two valleys. 
Now must ye seek rest, for the dawn is at 
hand ; when ye are refreshed with sleep I 
will " 

The chief of the dwarfs suddenly stopped 
speaking, for into his audience chamber ran 
half-a-dozen excited dwarfs. 

" Great chief, the Riffs are upon us ! " cried 
one. " They are storming the valley of the 

city ! " cried another. " They hold every 
crest above us ! " cried a third. 

The chief of the dwarfs hurriedly passed 
through a rock-cut passage to a rough plat- 
form of rock, which commanded a view of 
the valley and the heights. Without hesita- 
tion we followed him, and this is what we 
saw : — 

With shouts and cries to Allah for aid, the- 
Riff Highlanders were charging down the 
slopes, with fixed bayonets, upon the spear- 
armed dwarfs who were struggling upwards 
and gallantly defending each foot of the way ! 


11 Well, Harold," said Denviers, gloomily, 
to me at the close of that eventful day ; " I 
think it is all over with us at last" 

" I wouldn't give much for our chance of 
escape," I answered, slowly; "we seem to be 
shut up with the chief of the dwarfs here like 
three rats in a trap." 

We grew silent at the end of a short 
conversation. All that day the dwarfs had 
fought the Riffs with the courage that is born 
of despair. Unequally armed and out- 
numbered, they had disputed every foot of 
their city with the attacking Riffs. Their 
chief had begged us to fulfil our promise, and 
accordingly we fought on the side of the 
dwarfs. Their city proved to be of consider- 
able extent, and when the Riffs poured in a 
mad stream through its narrow streets, they 
met with the utmost resistance. Towards 
the afternoon, however, the whole city was in 
fhe Riffs' possession, every building and open 
space showing the slaughter and destruction 
which alone had brought about this result. 

The chief retreated, at last, to his 
audience chamber; there, Denviers and I, 
together with a few dwarfs, made a last stand 
as the Riffs dashed up the wide, rock-cut 
stairs which led into it. Hassan we had lost 
in the city, during the fight there, and we 
felt sure that he was killed. I can only 
attribute the stand which Denviers made to 
the vengeance he sought to obtain from the 
Riffs for the loss of our faithful guide's 
services and life. 

Denviers stood upon the fourth step or 
the way ; behind him was a handful of 
dwarfs, as well as myself and the chief dwarf. 
We had obtained bayoneted rifles, taken 
from slain Riffs, and with one of these 
weapons Denviers thrust down to death each 
man that tried to win the stairs. I have 
mentioned my companion's stature and 
strength, but his deeds that afternoon seemed 
even beyond what such could give him 




power to do. More than once the Riffs 
drew (jack from the fight in sheer amaze- 
ment \ they would draw together and talk to 
each other as if almjst despairing to win the 
way. Then they 
would come on a^uin, 
shouting and cheering 
each other on. They 
had no ammunition 
left, as we soon saw, 
or Denviers would 
have been shot down 
in an instant At last 
one of the fanatic 
Riffs made a dash at 
Denviers, whu thrust 
him through with his 
bayonet, but as the 
man fell backward, 
and before Denviers 
could de- 
fend him^ 
self, another 
Riff threw 
down his 
own weapon 
and closed 
w i t h m y 

The next 
instant Den- 
viers was 
down and 
secured by 
several Riffs, 
while the 
others char- 
ged upon us 
who still op- 
posed them. 
We fought till we were overpowered ; they 
slaughtered the dwarfs with the exception of 
the chief, whose appearance and apparel 
showed he was someone of importance. Soon 
afterwards, Denviers, with the chief of the 
dwarfs and myself, were thrust into the 
chiefs audience chamber, We were all 
wounded— Denviers very seriously. There 
we were guarded, after being disarmed, by 
several Riffs. A message then came to the 
chief of the dwarfs, demanding the strange 
sword which had been the cause of the 
invasion. He did not know where it was ; 
during some part of the fray it had been 
wrested from his hand. 

"I expect," said Denviers, resuming the 
conversation which had ceased, 4t that we 
shall not live much longer." 

"It is his sword that has saved our lives 

Digitized bytiOOgle 


even for a short while/' I answered, " I 
feel quite certain of the fact : the Marabout 
who leads these Riffs thinks, if we three are 
slain, there will be no one to question as to 

its whereabouts. He 
ancies, no doubt, 
that we have the 
sword, and will, I 
daresay, try to wrest 
from us the secret of 
its hiding-place." 

I had scarcely 
made answer so, 
when one of the Riffs 
who guarded us 
entered the audience 
chamber, and bade 
ns rise and follow 
iim. Knowing that 
resistance was use- 
ess, we did so, 
and were marched 
through several of 
those strange pass- 
ages in which 
the mountains 

At last we 
found ourselves 
in what we learnt 
was called the 
Hall of the Well. 
This was a great 
circular room, 
hewn out of the 
solid rock, its 
sides being 
polished by some 
art known to the 
dwarfs. Round 
the room ran tiers of stone seats; one was 
elevated more than the others, and upon it 
sat the Marabout who had summoned us 
into his presence. 

At the foot of the lowest tier of seats was 
a great flagged, circular space, in the centre 
of which was the mouth of a well. The 
waters of the well were dried up; indeed, 
the room had long been used as one in which 
to publicly execute criminals, who were flung 
alive into the well 

The Marabout, who was of Moorish 
appearance, wore a green robe and turban. 
Fastened to his side was the scabbard of the 
sword which he desired to possess. His dark 
eyes glittered as he saw the chief of the 
dwarfs thrust before him* 

11 Tie s^nbbard is here— yonder, the well 
of death/ the Marabout said, glancing at his 




rival ; " give up the sword and thou shalt be 
spared. ,T 

The chief of the dwarfs know that by 
sparing hU life, the Marabout would fail to 
carry out the prophecy in which both men so 
strangely believed. He glanced back at the 
Marabout as he answered : — 

" The well is not for my body while I live. 
Thou must first find the sword and slay me 
ere thou canst hope for the promise of the 
great Houssa to be fulfilled !" 

** I will slay thee and thy allies ; the well 
waits ; when the sword is found it shall pass 
through thy body, which shall be dragged 
lifeless from the well." 

The Marabout motioned to his attendant 
Riffs, two of whom seized the dwarf and 
forced him towards the well Just as the 
man was being held with his head and 
part of his body right over the mouth of 
the well, oi\g of the Riffs suddenly entered 
the Hall of the Well, uttering a loud cry of 
appeal to the Marabout. 

" Lo ! illustrious Marabout. I have found 
the sword I " cried the man. The Marabout 
beckoned for his foe to be brought from the 
well. The two men forced the 
dwarf to his knees before the 
Marabout, while the one who had 
found the sword made humble 
obeisance, as he presented the 

from the orifices swarmed a number of dwarfs, 
who fell fiercely upon the Riffs. We wrenched 
weapons from the men nearest us, and fought 
the Riffs until they lurried and fled pre- 
cipitately—the man who held the jewelled 
sword leading us on in the attack. 

The disorganized Riffs were hunted and 
slain for the most part ; some of them, how- 
ever, escaped when the night came on* We 
owed so much to the Riff who had slain the 
Marabout, that when we gathered about him 
at a later time that night, Denviers asked 
the man why he had killed his leader. For 
answer, the man drew off the covering upon 
his head, and exposed bib features — it was 
Hassan ! 

Our guide told us next day, after w T e had 
parted with the strange dwarf tribe, of his 
adventures in that cave-eaten place ; how he 
had found the sword, and hearing where the 
Marabout was, had got together the dwarfs, 
who had fled to the caves, in order to make 
one final attempt to free us. 

We reached Tangier, our destination, in 
safety, and there our journey across the Dark 
Continent ended, 

** Slay the dwarf 
own hand, illustrious 
cried the Riff; "then 
shall it be ever after 
sheathed in thy 
scabbard in peace ! " 

The Marabout 
stretched forth hi , 
hand to take the 
weapon from the 
Riff, when the latter 
suddenly plunged it 
into his breast ! 

The Riffs darted 
forward to seize the 
man's arm, but were 
too late, for the 
Marabout fell dead 
upon the stone steps, 

The Riffs had 
hardly recovered 
from their astonish- 
ment when, in halt 
a-dozen places at 
once, the flagging 
of the floor was 
thrust up, and out 

with thine 
Marabout, 7 ' 



Original from 




Some Peculiar Entertainments. 


By Framley Steelcroft\ 

[OU will often hear a man say, 
with smugj smiling wonder : 
11 It's amazing what people will 
do for a living 1 '; and, really, 
it is. Now, while I don't 
claim to have brought together 
— "right here" as the Americans say — all 
the peculiar items of lt business " that are at 
this moment amusing, thrilling, or horrifying 
the paying public of both hemispheres, yet I 
have secured a representative lot, each one of 
whom I have at one time or another inter- 
viewed personally. 

First of all, then, let me introduce to your 
notice {I feel something of a showman 
myself, now) Professor James Finney and his 
sister playing nap beneath the water in their 


big tank, which holds 300 gallons and cost a 
^100 note. And I should mention that it 
would be utterly impossible for these well- 
known swimming experts to simulate interest 
in the game, were it not that the water is 
heated to a temperature of Sodeg* The 
porcelain cards are specially made at the 
Staffordshire potteries. 

Another feat performed by Finney under 
water is the picking np of seventy or eighty 
gold-plated halfpennies with his mouth, his 
hands being tied securely behind his back. 
Just consider what this means. The expert 
assures me he finds the picking up and stow- 
ing away of the coins one by one in his 
mouth a most arduous and even painful 
task. He has, however, remained nearlv 

Digitized by O 

four and a half minutes beneath the water, 
and is the possessor of a whole museum of 
cups and medals, whose mere intrinsic value 
is about ^i,ooo f 

Miss Marie Finney is, perhaps, our premier 
lady swimmer ; and among her remarkable 
feats may be mentioned a header from 
London Bridge. It is not known what 
useful end this served, but it is duly re- 
corded in the printed matter relating to the 
lady herself. This peculiar pair perform a 
variety of antics beneath the water, including 
eating cakes, drinking milk, and smoking, 
44 Professor " Finney (this is the generic title of 
these specialists) makes some interesting cal- 
culations as to the quantity of comestibles 
consumed by him under water every year ; 

and without pro- 
lixity I may say that 
this is enough to 
stock one of the 
Aerated Bread 
Company's well- 
known establish- 

I believe that in 
certain unesalted 
circles the expres- 
sion t( Go and eat 
coke ! " ts some- 
times used as an 
opprobrious ad- 
monition. Into the 
derivation of this I 
will not go, but I 
have seen the thing 
done by an artiste 
(save the mark I) 
yclept *'the Human 
Ostrich." He was this and much more; for 
not only did the man swallow every day 
sufficient carboniferous fuel to cook a 
respectable dinner for an ordinary Christian, 
but he also i( chawed " and ate at each meal 
a stout glass tumbler and a lot of wood 
shavings. The l * dessert" (note the ghoulish 
humour of the printed menu) consisted of a 
couple of lengthy tallow candl